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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29029068">a matter of choices</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spayne/pseuds/Spayne'>Spayne</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Killing Eve (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A few hotel rooms....., F/F, Post 304, and then they get to Russia, train journeys and talking, you didn’t like 305 huh?, you might be right</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:35:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29029068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spayne/pseuds/Spayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Villanelle leaves for Russia in search of family, and finds Eve instead.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>551</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 12:55 Paris to Brussels (i)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello!!</p><p>This is not Spayne AU era in case that wasn't clear.</p><p>It turns out that AU is hard...... So I did this instead....hope it suits.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She’s never liked trains. </p><p> </p><p>Not when they kept her up late into the night on the freight line running outside her window at the orphanage and not when she was older and accustomed to travelling in the sort of comfort that her money afforded her. But for this journey, where she isn't entirely sure what she’s going to find at the end, she wanted to pace herself.</p><p> </p><p>It's not an urge that she’s used to, but when it came to booking the flights she’d felt— hesitant. Another feeling she isn't used to. So she’d googled it and as it turns out Paris to Moscow can be done with relative ease by train, and now here she is. First class of course, because, well because she’s not completely lost sense who she is despite— everything.</p><p> </p><p>It's not airline first class but, she concedes, it's not entirely terrible and she sips an acceptable cup of coffee whilst staring out from her seat onto the platform at Gare Du Nord. </p><p> </p><p>She’s missed France she realises. Barcelona has the sun and the buildings and the women, sure, but there's something about Paris with all of its elegance seeped in dirt and grime. It’s always suited her. So it probably makes sense that the journey back to Russia should start here.</p><p> </p><p>It was that stupid baby that got her thinking about it. That stupid baby and all its stupid family so overjoyed to see it again. She’d scoffed at the melodrama of it all and then wondered about whether anyone had ever been that full of happiness and love at the thought of seeing her. </p><p> </p><p>It was a stupid trail of thought to start down because all thoughts of love and any of that shit inevitably lead to her. </p><p> </p><p>And she is not thinking about her. </p><p> </p><p>This isn't about her, she sniffs dismissively. So much of her life now has been overrun by Eve, but not this. She doesn’t get to have this, not if Villanelle doesn't want to give it to her. Which she doesn’t. Obviously.</p><p> </p><p>Paris has Eve smeared across it of course and she shifts in her seat at the memory. But her family doesn't belong to Eve, all that misery is hers and hers alone. Who knows, maybe she’ll arrive at the house where they are living now and she’ll have remembered everything wrong, maybe they’ll be glad to see her. Maybe there was a reason why she was— left. Her chest feels tight in a way that has become familiar, a souvenir from Rome she’s rationalised. She wasn’t like this before, Eve might have left with a bullet wound but she isn't the only one to bear scars.</p><p> </p><p>She breathes out slowly to calm the feeling and takes another sip of coffee.</p><p> </p><p>There’s some movement at the head of the carriage. Her eyes scan the crowd in the way that has become natural. A man with a suitcase which seems light for its size, a woman with good shoes and an average bag. Nothing remotely interesting.</p><p> </p><p>A man walks down the aisle next to her reeking of smoke. She thinks of Eve, of the lighter she had found in that awful little flat, and tries to remember whether the smell had clung to her clothes as she’d lent down over her on the bus right before—</p><p> </p><p>She puts down her cup on the table in front of her. </p><p> </p><p>It's hard to know what to feel about that kiss. Annoyingly at the time she’d all but swooned. She rubs her fingers impatiently across her forehead at the memory, God she hopes Eve hadn’t seen that because now she’s had time to think about it she’s— she’s actually kind of pissed off about it.</p><p> </p><p>She’d gone there to show Eve that what happened in Rome was behind her. She’d put it behind her. Eve and her stupid theories about what Villanelle understands or doesn’t. All those times she had closed her eyes and seen a body in the dust only to find her chest constricted leaving her fighting to keep her breathing steady.  All of that was gone. She doesn’t think about it any more. Eve had brought it on herself. </p><p> </p><p>The tightness in her chest is back but she pushes past it, reminds herself that she was a victim that day too. It doesn’t matter anyway, she doesn’t think about it anymore and she’s fine. Completely fine.</p><p> </p><p>Fine until Eve had charged at her all fury and fists, and suddenly she was on top of Eve and then that stupid too rushed kiss and too rough headbut and Villanelle had— swooned. </p><p> </p><p>She cringes at the thought of it.</p><p> </p><p>Eve had kissed her. A shit kiss but a kiss nonetheless. Eve will tell herself it was nothing more than a distraction obviously, but that would be bullshit and Villanelle knows it now. She knew it before Rome too, she forgot for a while after….. what happened, but now she knows it again. </p><p> </p><p>Eve feels something for her. </p><p> </p><p>Ok, so maybe there is a small part of her which still finds that knowledge swoon worthy. But the other part, the part she tries to bring to the fore now is pissed off that Eve would never just do that without being able to blame it on something else. She’s been there before of course, confessions on a bed in Paris posed as a tool to lower her guard, jealousy in London palmed off as professional distaste and now a kiss on a bus but only as a distraction. Please.</p><p> </p><p>She exhales through her nose and reminds herself that she isn’t thinking about Eve, this is meant to be about her. </p><p> </p><p>She checks her phone, and stretches her legs into the footwell of the seat opposite her. A trick she had learnt from Konstantin, don’t want to sit next to someone? Just buy the seats around you and enjoy the solitude. He’s not an extravagant man, but she’d never known him to tolerate discomfort while travelling. A habit she’d inherited from him. </p><p> </p><p>Can you inherit behaviour from people who don’t share your blood?</p><p> </p><p>Knowing her luck that would be a thing and she’ll end up with a penchant for too big overcoats. She shudders at the thought. But if she’s stuck with a genetic inheritance afforded by blood she’s started to wonder who it might have come from. It’s the first time in a long time she’s thought about it; the root of these parts of herself which set her apart from other people. </p><p> </p><p>It’s something else she has not thought about often, the reason why killing used to be so much fun was mostly irrelevant. It just was. A rush of power and the supreme satisfaction that comes when you are really good at something. She’d never cared if this came from her Mother, Father or a distant grandparent who chopped limbs instead of wood. It was just in her and that was how it was, so why bother questioning it? But on her way back there now, she indulges herself a little and wonders whether she’ll arrive at the house and find that there’s someone else who might just get it, someone who is the same. </p><p> </p><p>She thinks of Eve and then immediately stops herself.</p><p> </p><p>When she focuses again on the world outside the window she’s surprised she hadn't noticed the train pulling from the station. The tower blocks of the parisian suburbs whip past the window and she relaxes back into her seat. </p><p> </p><p>There’s some movement behind her, the carriage door sliding open, she continues to stare out the window. The hurried sound of steps approaching from behind that slow when they near her. </p><p> </p><p>She can see in the reflection on the window who it is. </p><p> </p><p>There’s the usual twist in her chest, excitement and apprehension indistinguishable when it comes to her. Annoyance too of course, this wasn’t meant to be about her, but when has there ever been a part of herself that Eve hasn’t wanted to dissect and possess. Not that she’d ever admit to the possession, but without that what could be the point of knowing another person in the way she said she wanted to? </p><p> </p><p>Presumably she knows what this journey is? Or maybe not. Maybe she wants more public transportation based kissing? Villanelle concedes that’s probably less likely. Oh well.</p><p> </p><p>Eve stands, still slightly behind her but makes no attempt to get Villanelle’s attention, she imagines Eve’s pursuit to find her full of rush but little thought or planning and now faced with Villanelle again she is unsure how to hit the right tone. But Villanelle is feeling impatient and not in the least inclined to let Eve dictate the terms. Again.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks of her trip planned with solitude and introspection (and Netflix) and sighs. </p><p> </p><p>Fine, whatever.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi Eve.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>-----</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The aim is to post weekly, I'm four chapters in so Im hoping to be able to keep things pretty regular.</p><p>And as always, do say hi in the comments or on Twitter - i'm mostly friendly - @spayne_fic</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 12:55 Paris to Brussels (ii)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So....</p><p>Here is the start of the weekly postings, but im making decent progress so I might get greedy and post more frequently....I suppose its a question of self control.....</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The doors slide closed behind her and Eve gives serious thought to whether or not one can die of lack of fitness alone. After several long moments trying to catch her breath she decides probably not, or she would have died a long time ago. Probably on that god awful hiking trip Niko insisted on a few years ago.</p><p> </p><p>Niko. Right. The reason she’s here.</p><p> </p><p>She checks her phone with trepidation but there are no missed calls, no texts. No news is good news right? His family had promised to keep her updated, and they would do that surely? She is still technically his wife after all. </p><p> </p><p>She thinks back to the waiting room full of hard faced family members who never warmed to her and that was before whatever Niko had told them about their current situation. But they know that couples fight, right? And she was leaving to try and find out who did this, that should have counted for something. But she’s not entirely sure it did; they didn’t get it in the same way Niko never did<b><em>—</em> </b>  what she’s doing is important.</p><p> </p><p>Once her breathing is steady she begins to walk down the train toward first class. Why would anyone bother paying for first class for a journey that’s less than two hours? Irritation at Villanelle’s extravagance hums through her before she acknowledges that’s not entirely fair, it's not solely irritation she feels when she thinks of all the little indulgences that Villanelle surrounds herself with. The clothes, the fridge full of champagne, the stupid gold faucets. But as with everything about her, its all too wrapped up in the fallout from Rome and everything else for Eve to even try to separate out what is annoying and what might be, on someone else, kind of<b><em>— </em> </b>charming.</p><p> </p><p>She dismisses the thought as quickly as it arrived to focus on the task at hand. Find her, find out who hurt Niko and<b><em>—</em> </b> and that’s where the plan gets somewhat more vague. What is she going to do to the person who did this to her? </p><p> </p><p>The person who did this to Niko, she corrects herself. </p><p> </p><p>She remembers the way that the blood lightly dusted her face as she swung the axe and wonders whether she could do it again, whether she really wants to. It's a problem for the future she decides, right now the priority is to find out who did it and why, and Villanelle is going to help her.</p><p> </p><p>She stops finally at the doors which connect this last standard class carriage with the pseudo luxury of the next one. She scoffs inwardly, how much luxury can there be in what is really only a standard train car? </p><p> </p><p>She lifts her hand to activate the doors but pauses. Now is really when she should consider the implications of approaching Villanelle like this, and particularly now after what had happened on the bus. She should weigh up the risks, she should think about what might happen. Her fingers press  the button and the doors open disappointingly slowly, enough so that if she was inclined to use this as thinking time she probably could do so. Instead she steps into the carriage and doesn’t pretend to think more about it.</p><p> </p><p>She knows to expect Villanelle midway through the carriage. Her back will be to Eve, and she imagines Villanelle’s surprise when Eve steps in front of her, even the thought of it so satisfying that she finds herself hurrying slightly. </p><p> </p><p>She remembers the white hot jolt when she first saw Villanelle on the bus, everything that she had been trying to bury since Rome was back and thumping hard in her chest. Just the thought of putting Villanelle through that, to knock her off balance for once fills her with a satisfaction she probably ought to be ashamed of. Oh well, it's been a lifetime of feeling things she shouldn’t, and not feeling much of what she guesses she should, why stop now?</p><p> </p><p>Eve sees the crown of her head first, a bump of blonde peaking against the garish red of the seat covers. She thinks of Rome, then forces herself not to. She stops just behind Villanelle and<b><em>—</em></b> <em>fuck</em><b><em>— </em></b>she’s wearing her hair down. It's a ridiculous thought to have in this particular moment, but Eve suddenly feels completely thrown by this detail. </p><p> </p><p>She hasn’t seen it down before, it's longer than she’d pictured, thicker too by the looks of it, she feels an absurd urge to slip her hand behind Villanelle’s neck, wrap her fist into strands, pull sharply to bare Villanelle’s throat, or maybe her mouth? She doesn’t know which she wants more.</p><p> </p><p>She’s shaken by the thought,  another one that she’ll try not to examine too closely. Eve takes one further step, her heart hammers in her chest, opens her mouth to speak and--</p><p> </p><p>“Hi Eve”</p><p> </p><p>The wind, the fight, all of what she’d been carefully stoking, to build herself up to this moment deflates the instant she hears the familiar lazy drawl. </p><p> </p><p>The fucking asshole.</p><p> </p><p>She hovers, still slightly out of Villanelle’s eye line, regretting that her plan was to get information out of her, but actually remained very light on the detail of how exactly she was going to achieve that. </p><p> </p><p>“Hi.” </p><p> </p><p>She steps forward to stand next to her and Villanelle cranes her head up to look up, her mouth quirked into a half smile. When Eve doesn’t say anything more Villanelle’s eyes dart around the carriage theatrically. “Are you here to kiss me again?” She stage whispers it and Eve feels herself flush with an anger that at least focuses her mind.</p><p> </p><p>“Niko’s in the hospital.”</p><p> </p><p>It seems to do the trick, Villanelle’s manner changes in a flash all the teasing vanishes, and is replaced by a blankness Eve recognises as boredom, Villanelle turns her face back to the window.</p><p> </p><p>When she doesn’t respond Eve sinks down into the seat opposite before continuing.</p><p> </p><p>“Stabbed. Through the neck with a pitch fork.” Eve thinks she sees the smallest reaction in her face but it's gone by the time Villanelle turns back to her.</p><p> </p><p>“And you think it was me?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” </p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn't hesitate and that does create a reaction, finally, a blink, a bob in her throat. Not much, but it was there.</p><p> </p><p>“But someone wanted me to think that you did.” She pulls the note from her pocket in what she hopes is a dramatic flourish. Villanelle reaches out and turns it back and forth between fingers that Eve can’t help but think of as elegant.</p><p> </p><p>“And you want me to….?” She leaves the sentence hanging.</p><p> </p><p>“I want you to help me find out who did it.” The bored expression is back on Villanelle’s face again, and Eve tries to ignore the jab of disappointment. Ok, so she didn’t know exactly what to expect but casual disinterest wasn’t it.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sighs heavily “You, what, chase me around Europe again because you want me to avenge the death of the moustache?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s not dead.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sniffs dismissively, rolls her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I just--” Eve pauses, adjusts tack, “Do you know anything? Will you help me?”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shifts in her seat, her gaze suddenly much more focused. “You asked for my help before, you remember? You promised me everything I wanted.” She raises her gaze questioningly. “hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>Eve opens her mouth to tell her off, to snap back with something to end this particular line of questioning, but finds that she doesn’t want to. It’s a conversation that she both wants to avoid and run head first into. Whichever way this conversation goes, she forces herself to remember that this is a woman who doesn’t react well to hearing truths that she doesn’t like. </p><p> </p><p>She has been quiet for long enough to prompt Villanelle to roll her eyes again and begin to turn away. </p><p> </p><p>“ <b><em>—</em></b>I couldn’t” Her voice sounds weird even to her own ears.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle turns back with something approaching a smile and yet at the same time it's anything but. “You could, Eve. But I understand better now, I think that you didn’t want to. Not enough anyway.” She shrugs. “It’s ok.” She picks up the note again. “Dasha Duzran. That's who you are looking for.</p><p> </p><p>Something at Eve’s chest twists at her words and she finds herself leaning forward, “Vil— ”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle cuts her off “—She’s in Spain. Barcelona.” </p><p> </p><p>Eve swallows down whatever it was she was going to say and focuses on this new revelation.</p><p> </p><p>“Who’s Dasha?”</p><p> </p><p>“She is my contact for The Twelve.”</p><p> </p><p>“The new Konstantin?”</p><p> </p><p>She smiles grimly. “Or Konstatin was the new Dasha.” Another careless shrug. “She was the first handler they gave me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right.” Eve nods to herself. “Why try to make me think it was you?”</p><p> </p><p>“To make you hate me” Villanelle pauses, weighing up whether or not to continue, comes to a decision, “she thinks you are a distraction.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve frowns at that. “Before a few days ago, we hadn’t seen each other since—” </p><p> </p><p>An odd expression that Eve can’t read crosses Villanelle’s face and she feels it again, that burning need to have everything of this woman, to know everything. She angles her shoulder in a way that she knows will cause a sharp bite of pain, a reminder of where that desire leads.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you were dead.” Villanelle’s voice is smaller when she says it. “But you were never gone. Not really, and Dasha knew.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve slumps back in her seat. Incredulous in the face of Villanelle’s obvious sadness that Eve might have been dead. She doesn’t get to be sad about that, not when she would have been the cause of it.</p><p> </p><p>“You shot me.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods but says nothing, and Eve’s throat feels tight at the silence. She’s played this conversation out in her head a thousand times, she knows all the venom and spite that she wants to spit out at Villanelle but faced with her now the words don’t come.</p><p> </p><p>The silence stretches as they continue to sit in silence, eventually Eve turns to look out the window.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing in Brussels?” Eve finds herself asking in an attempt to break the tension.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle seems to have recovered some of her casual indifference, as annoying as that is, at least she looks more like herself than the fragile thing that sat in front of Eve moments before.</p><p> </p><p>“Changing trains?”</p><p> </p><p>“Where are you going?”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle smiles coldly at that. “Why? Are you going to tell on me? Have Carolyn waiting for me as I get off the train” </p><p> </p><p>Eve screws up her face at that, “No.”</p><p> </p><p>“No?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. I just <b><em>—</em></b>I just wanted to know.”</p><p> </p><p>“You always want to know.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve shrugs. </p><p> </p><p>“Moscow.” Villanelle answers after a long pause.</p><p> </p><p>“Why? You hate Russia.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do I?” Villanelle shrugs lazily, dismissing Eve once again.</p><p> </p><p>Eve is sure that her face doesn't quite hold back a look of skepticism but Villanelle doesn’t react in any discernible way and clearly isn’t going to elaborate so she takes out her phone.</p><p> </p><p>“Any idea how easy it is to get to the airport from the station when we get to Brussels?”</p><p> </p><p>“Easier to get the eurostar, no?”</p><p> </p><p>Eve opens up google and starts to search for flights,  “Eurostar only runs as far as Paris though, then I’d need to get another train.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you going back to Paris, I meant to go to London?” </p><p> </p><p>Eve doesn’t look up in response. “I'm not going back to london? I'm going to Barcelona.” As soon as the sentence is out of her mouth Villanelle reaches across and pulls the phone out of her hands.</p><p> </p><p>“No, you are not.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve’s face screws up in response. “Yes. I am.” She reaches out to try and grab the phone but Villanelle holds it out of her reach.</p><p> </p><p>“Eve. If you go and find Dasha, she will kill you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I just want to talk to her.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really? To say what? ‘Why did you stab my boring husband?’”</p><p> </p><p>Eve deliberately sidesteps the barb, but lacks any clever reply because that was pretty much her plan, and hearing it now, coming from Villanelle’s sarcastic mouth, it seems a bit lacking in detail and purpose. She goes to snatch a her phone again but Villanelle holds it out of reach, grinning at this new game. Eve slumps back in her seat refusing to give Villanelle the satisfaction of playing along.</p><p> </p><p>“Aw, poor baby, don’t pout, i’ll give it back.” She holds it out to Eve only to snatch it away again as Eve goes to take it, laughing as she does so. </p><p> </p><p>“God you are such a child!” Eve snaps, conscious of the occasional glare from other passengers. “Give it back.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve watches as Villanelle stops laughing, wipes a nail beneath one eye and she turns more serious again. “Listen, ok? You have a clever mouth and you ask clever questions with it. I like it, Dasha would not. If you go looking for her she will kill you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well I can’t just do nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle’s face quirks a little in response and Eve thinks that on someone else she might even concede that it looks affectionate.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine. Do something else. Just don’t do that.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle holds the phone out in front of her and offers it back to Eve, then starts to pull it away slowly as Eve reaches for it but returns it after Eve delivers a particularly punishing eye roll.</p><p> </p><p>She can’t just sit on this information, this Dasha person tried to stir up whatever delicate truce existed between her and Villanelle, tried to use Niko to do it. Plus, obviously, Niko was seriously injured in the process. Of course. That’s the biggest issue. She can't just let it go. But —Villanelle does raise a reasonable point that if she were to just present herself up to this woman, she might end up dead. She looks across to Villanelle who is staring straight back at her expectantly. An idea begins to form—</p><p> </p><p>“You could come with me. To see Dasha, to find out why she did this, and if she tries to kill me you can stop her.” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle's expression is incredulous. “I shot you?” </p><p> </p><p>That stops her. Villanelle is right. She shot her because Eve said something that she didn’t like. Ok. So maybe it was more than that. Eve said something that —something that hurt her badly. Eve knows this. Feels it every day in that dry ache in her shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>But despite that here she is. Chasing Villanelle again. The only explanation is that she—she doesn't believe that Villanelle is going to do that to her again. That, or she’s had a complete break with reality. She doesn’t completely dismiss that as an explanation but really what does it matter the reason why? She’s still doing this whatever the reason.</p><p> </p><p>“I know, believe me.” Eve pauses to give her a hard look. “Are you going to do it again?”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle blinks then shakes her head. “I —I don't know. I don’t want to?” It's framed as a question and Eve is surprised to see Villanelle’s eyes are a bit glassey for a moment. The thought makes her throat tight and she feels a beyond stupid urge to reach out to touch her.</p><p> </p><p>“So you’ll come with me?” A change in subject seems like the safer choice.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever it was in Villanelle’s face earlier is gone suddenly and Eve wonders not for the first time, where the line between Villanelle’s genuine emotions sits, and where it blurs into the character she so effortlessly performs the majority of the time.</p><p> </p><p>“This is still not a good idea.” Villanelle says.</p><p> </p><p>“Why? You’ve just said that you are much less likely to kill me than this Dasha person so it makes sense for you to come and help.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pulls a face in response, “Why? If she did this to keep us apart, what do you think she’ll do if we turn up with you waving me around as your knight in shining armour?”</p><p> </p><p>Eve scoffs in response. “You are not my <em>—</em>” she waves her hand vaguely, “  —knight or whatever you said. I can take care of myself. You’d just be back up. And anyway, if you don’t come with me i’m going anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve watches as Villanelle seems to weigh up what she’s said.</p><p> </p><p>“Im still—I need to go to Russia.”</p><p> </p><p>Right. Yes. Russia.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, we’ll do it after. How long will—  whatever you’re doing take? What are you doing there anyway? A job?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” Villanelle answers immediately, and Eve senses something, has the urge to press for more, she ignores it. </p><p> </p><p>“So like a week?” Eve asks</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe. I don’t know yet. When I’m done I’ll come and collect you and—”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Eve says firmly.</p><p> </p><p>“No?” </p><p> </p><p>“No. If I just wait for you in Brussels what's to stop you just getting on a train back to Spain and telling Dasha I'm coming.”</p><p> </p><p>“What? That doesn’t even make sense. I'm trying to stop you getting killed. Why would I tell her that you are coming?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know. To warn her?”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle scoffs, “Of what? That Eve Polastri is coming for her with her axe?”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe, yeah.” Eve says it without thinking and watches with satisfaction when Villanelle blinks, surprised.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sits back and tilts her head to look at her, then she leans forward on the table and looks earnest, “Don’t go and find Dasha. Please?” Eve thinks it's as close to pleading that she’s ever seen her.</p><p> </p><p>“I am going to find her. With or without you.” Eve’s voice is steady.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle exhales through her nose impatiently and slumps back in her seat.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, really?” Eve asks</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes and shrugs, looking every inch the sulky teenager.</p><p> </p><p>“So we’ll fly back to Barcelona from Brussels, see Dasha and—”</p><p> </p><p>“ —No. I told you. I’ve got to go to Russia.” Villanelle interrupts.</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t you just go later?”</p><p> </p><p>Something flares in Villanelle’s eyes, “No Eve. Not everything in my life is about you.” She bites out the words.</p><p> </p><p>Eve sits back, wrist well and truly slapped. She’s heard the words from others of course. Friends before, then Niko, but it stings to hear them from her.</p><p> </p><p>“Ok, so —so I could  —I could come with you?” There's a question at the end which Eve did not intend. She wanted to be in control of this. This, apparently, being inserting herself into Villanelle’s next kill. Maybe the break with reality isn't that far fetched after all.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle screws up her face. “You want to come to Russia? With me?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. I want you to come with me to find Dasha, and I don’t want you disappearing without a trace for another six months.” </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle chews her lip for a moment, Eve’s eyes track the movement, and watches as her face flickers with something much softer.</p><p> </p><p>“How did you find me?” She asks.</p><p> </p><p>Eve exhales, a sound of annoyance that she doesn't really feel. “You —on the bus. You paid with your phone, you idiot.” The words lack the bite she thinks that maybe she intended, instead she sounds fond. She doesn’t think that’s what she meant. </p><p> </p><p>The corner of Villanelle’s mouth quirks slightly in response. However she meant it, Eve can’t get away from the fact that the way Villanelle is looking at her feels kind of ok, maybe it even feels nice.</p><p> </p><p>Eve watches as Villanelle shrugs and sighs. “Ok, fine, you win, Eve. I guess we’re going to Moscow.”</p><p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 4:48 Cologne to Berlin</h2></a>
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    <p> </p><p>They’ve been on and off trains for the last three hours and the best that Villanelle can say about it is that there has been a lot of covert staring, Eve’s, and some less than covert staring, her’s.</p><p> </p><p>Watching is fun. That’s the bedrock of much of their relationship to date after all, but four hours of close quarter staring occasionally punctuated with, “Which platform do we need?” or “Do you want a coffee?” has left Villanelle with the distinct feeling that watching is actually— kind of boring.</p><p> </p><p>Eve has been harried and fidgety in the way she was before Rome. In fact now that she thinks about it, the only time she’s ever seen Eve looking relatively relaxed was laying on her bed in Paris immediately before she buried a knife in her stomach. </p><p> </p><p>She stares out the window, fields and more fields zip past, boring of course but the more focused in a different direction that she can make herself, the more openly Eve allows herself to look.</p><p> </p><p>She reminds herself that whilst it might not be as fun as other things that she could imagine them doing together, it's still better than having her thousands of miles away or dead in a roman ruin.</p><p> </p><p>She supposes she could make small talk, ‘How was Poland, pitchforking aside?’, ‘Did you have a nice birthday? Get any fun yet thoughtful cakes?’. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe not. Does Eve even do small talk? She can’t imagine she has the patience, or indeed, the subtlety for that matter. </p><p> </p><p>So maybe she should ask the question that she really wants to, ‘If your stupid, boring husband is dying in Poland, why are you here with me?’</p><p> </p><p>She reminds herself that there would be little point in asking, just like the kiss, just like everything; Eve would never give a straight answer and having to sit through yet more denials would just piss her off. She has theories of course, good ones about how Eve would even use the almost murder of her husband as an excuse to chase her again, but also less happy ones too about how Eve does actually think Villanelle had something to do with it and this is all some sort of trick or something. </p><p> </p><p>But— Villanelle thinks back to the way that Eve had denied that she thought Villanelle had done it. She had seemed certain, and Villanelle had believed her. Or maybe it was that Villanelle wanted to believe her, but she's been here before so she reminds herself not to get too comfortable, or worse still, too hopeful.</p><p> </p><p>She’ll have to ditch her once they reach Moscow, of course, but maybe Villanelle ought to just let herself have this train journey. This opportunity to look and be looked at, to drink coffee in companionable silence, maybe Villanelle could convince Eve to watch a film on her laptop. That would be nice. Eve might fall asleep mid way through and her head might nod onto Villanelle’s shoulder and all that beautiful hair would be right there for Villanelle to rest her head on too. They could almost be a couple on vacation. She allows herself a small smile at the thought. </p><p> </p><p>“You look different?” Eve speaks suddenly to draw her from her imaginings, she finds a way to make it a question.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle raises her eyebrows, “Different to what?”</p><p> </p><p>Eve gestures vaguely in her direction, “Just different.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle is wearing a black bomber jacket, a white top beneath it. She knows she looks good, the masculine look softened by her hair down around her shoulders , even so she acknowledges that it's not quite the same as the dramatics that she normally likes to wear for Eve.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods slightly in understanding, “You prefer the suits, the couture.” She shrugs, “I wasn’t expecting you.” She looks down at the jacket, lightly fingers the material, raises her eyes to Eve’s, “You don’t like it?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, that not— I don't—” Eve breathes out frustrated sigh, starts again, “I was just surprised to see you looking—”</p><p> </p><p>“Normal?” Villanelle asks, raising a teasing eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>Eve snorts in response, “You could never be that.” As soon as the words leave her mouth a flush paints her cheeks and Villanelle can’t help but preen at the compliment.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Eve. You look— very pretty today.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve barks out a laugh, “No I don’t. I’ve not slept in almost two days.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shrugs in response, “No. Ok. You look terrible.” It makes Eve snort, and sort of smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you.” Eve tips her head back against her seat and closes her eyes for a moment, before seeming to force them back open.</p><p> </p><p>“You can sleep if you like—”, Eve opens her mouth to object but Villanelle continues, “its another four hours before we get to Berlin. I will wake you.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve looks unsure, “You won’t— leave?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ask me how much it hurts to jump from a moving train?” </p><p> </p><p>Eve huffs out another laugh, tips her head back again and closes her eyes, “how much?”</p><p> </p><p>“Quite a lot. I’m not going anywhere ok?”</p><p> </p><p>She seems to wrestle with the decision.</p><p> </p><p>“Unless you want to try handcuffs?” She asks optimistically.</p><p> </p><p>Eve huffs out a laugh in response, before tipping her head back against the headrest and closing her eyes, “Goodnight, Villanelle.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sleep well, Eve.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle is still there, still watching, when Eve wakes up after a few hours, she startles awake, breathes in sharply and when her eyes settle on Villanelle there's a flash of fear which crosses her face. Villanelle sees it all and hates the stab of disappointment, stupid really, of course Eve would be scared of her, she thinks of the gun and stretches her fist out, reminding herself that it isnt there, that that moment is gone.</p><p> </p><p>“How long was I asleep?”</p><p> </p><p>“A couple of hours.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve stretches in her seat, looks out the window. “Did I miss anything?” </p><p> </p><p>“I ate the complimentary biscuits?”</p><p> </p><p>She snorts a kind of laugh in response, and Villanelle watches as she rolls her shoulder a few times. She tries to ignore the stab of guilt, makes herself remember what Eve said. It does the trick and she stares out the window, Eve checks her phone and places it facedown on the table between them. No word on the fate of the pointless husband, Villanelle decides.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought he had left you?” Villanelle asks. </p><p> </p><p>It's clearly the wrong thing to say as Eve glares at her. </p><p> </p><p>“What? I did.”</p><p> </p><p>“He hasn’t left me. He— he just needed space.”</p><p> </p><p>“So why were you in Poland when it happened?” </p><p> </p><p>Eve opens her mouth as if to answer, closes it, then sinks back in her chair. It startels Villanelle how much she doesn’t like this, despite ostensibly winning the argument which is naturally one of her favourite things. But she likes Eve spitting with rage, not slumped in defeat.</p><p> </p><p>“Was it the kiss?” Villanelle hates the awful note of hope so plain in her voice, there despite not really expecting Eve to give her an answer and definitely not one she’d like.</p><p> </p><p>Eve huffs, and continues to stare out the window, anywhere but at Villanelle. “No.”</p><p> </p><p>It's not the answer that Villanelle expected, not that she even expected an answer, but for Eve to resist the opportunity to blame the least complicated scapegoat is a surprise.</p><p> </p><p>“I think he might have— might still—get over our—” she pauses, fumbles for the word.</p><p> </p><p><em> Relationship  </em>Villanelle thinks, desperately willing Eve to say it, to acknowledge it, to acknowledge her, finally.</p><p> </p><p>“But—” She stops, wavers on saying more, doesn’t,  settles instead on, “You wouldn’t understand.” </p><p> </p><p>It hurts less than the first time, but that's the point of scar tissue she supposes. Even so, Villanelle can’t help but think about Rome, about the blood and the dust and the months that followed.</p><p> </p><p>“Try me.” </p><p> </p><p>She hesitates, eyes Villanelle sceptically, “He doesn’t— he doesn’t understand— the way everything is now.”</p><p> </p><p>“The way you are?” She asks.</p><p> </p><p>Eve pauses, considering how honest to be perhaps. “Yeah. Its—”</p><p> </p><p>“—lonely.” Villanelle finishes.</p><p> </p><p>Eve exhales and gives Villanelle a look she can’t read.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t look so surprised, when the person you—” now she's the one to struggle to find the right word, she knows what she wants to say and knows just the same that she won’t, not again.  “when the person you want to— understand you, doesn't? I have some experience with that.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve looks at her, surprised perhaps, but also— sad? Villanelle isn’t sure, but she suddenly isn't comfortable being this open about herself with Eve again. Not after everything that happened. </p><p> </p><p>She changes the subject.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want— if you like I could phone the hospital, pretend to be a doctor to find out what’s happening? I am very good at accents” </p><p> </p><p>A bemused expression crosses her face in response, “I think the hospital probably still acknowledges that I’m his wife, even if his family don’t, so they should still talk to me about it.” She pauses a beat, “Thank you, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“His family; they don’t like you?”</p><p> </p><p>Eve huffs out a laugh and gestures to herself, “Would yours?”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle fights to keep her expression neutral, feels her body tense slightly, looks at Eve, and knows she saw it. She can practically see the cogs turn behind her eyes, and remembers that she doesn’t want this. This part of her life is not for Eve.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle shrugs, “I don’t remember them.” </p><p> </p><p>Eve blinks, then nods, and Villanelle is certain she isn’t going to buy it, that she’ll dig and dig and dig until there’s nothing more of Villanelle left to interest her.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, this is probably the longest conversation we’ve ever had?” Villanelle asks, changing the subject again.</p><p> </p><p>Eve screws up her face, “No it's not, we talked all the time when we were investigating Aaron Peel?”</p><p> </p><p>“You talked at me a lot, yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thats not—” Eve stops mid sentence and Villanelle thinks she might even look slightly chagrined at being called out. </p><p> </p><p>“Its not like you ever made it easy for me.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Villanelle acknowledges with a small shrug, she tilts her head questioningly, “but this is nicer, yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re different.” Eve says again.</p><p> </p><p>“I am the same.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve looks at her consideringly. </p><p> </p><p>“Maybe if we’d have had a conversation back then, you might have found it easier to like me then too.” Villanelle says, it comes out wistful. </p><p> </p><p>Eve blinks, “That wasn’t— I always liked you. Jesus, even when I hate you, I like you.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle can’t help her pleased grin at the admission, freely given in a way that she didn’t expect. Maybe it is Eve that’s different.</p><p> </p><p>“God” Eve groans and tips her head back against the headrest, “don’t look so pleased with yourself, liking you only makes me hate you more.”</p><p> </p><p>“Which makes you like me again.” She teases.</p><p> </p><p>Eve opens an eye, closes it. Says nothing but it’s enough and Villanelle bites her lip to keep the answering smile in.</p><p> </p><p>“How long till we get there?” Eve asks</p><p> </p><p>“Another hour or so.”</p><p> </p><p>“Im going to sleep again, ok?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you’ll wake me when we get there? You won’t—?” Eve opens her eyes, an attempt to gauge her sincerity perhaps. </p><p> </p><p>“I told you already, i'm not going anywhere.”</p><p> </p><p>It seems to satisfy her, so Eve exhales and snuggles herself back into the seat, closing her eyes again.</p><p> </p><p>Things do feel different, Eve is right.</p><p><br/>
Villanelle watches her drift off to sleep again, she’s been conciliatory where Villanelle expects her to be defensive, but the starkest difference is that she’s listened. For all her talk of wanting to know everything, Eve has only ever wanted the parts of Villanelle that she expected to find, the violence, the darkness or whatever it is inside her that captures Eve attention so keenly. She’d always shied away from, and dismissed Villanelle’s softer edges, but today has been different. It’s been kind of nice.</p><p> </p><p>She’s not going to get ahead of herself. Not like before. Things are never what Villanelle expects them to be with Eve. She never says what she means, and that can lead to— mistakes. Things are always good with Eve, right up until they aren't, and she needs to remember that. Her fingers brush the scar on her stomach, and she tries to remember the knife, and the gun, the blood. Her’s and Eve’s.</p><p> </p><p>She’s not going to get— hopeful. This is just a few days, she’ll flirt and tease and then she’ll ditch her in Moscow, take her passport so she can’t find Dasha on her own. Then Villanelle can focus on what’s important, sniffing out blood, and finding someone maybe who might be the same as her. Something reliable where Eve is not. </p><p> </p><p>So that’s how she’ll treat Eve’s presence on this trip, a bit of fun, a distraction. An alternative to Netflix.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing to get her hopes up about. </p><p> </p><p>Not again. </p><p> </p><p>Huh, maybe she is different after all.</p><p><br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>@spayne_fic - Let me know what you think...good or...dare I say it..bad?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Berlin (i)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The atmosphere changes in Berlin. It’s Eve’s fault. She knows it’s her fault but she just hasn’t been able to stop herself.</p><p> </p><p>She blames it on being surprised, she didn’t know they were going to be staying here overnight, stupid really what else did she expect to happen once the train arrived in the city after 9pm? But stupid or not, it has thrown her.</p><p> </p><p>Once she realised, her heart sank, stomach twisted, along with every other uncomfortable thing that a body can do to itself. Because the ugly truth of it is that whatever it is that Eve feels for Villanelle, it is much easier to feel it when she doesn’t have think about the dead weight of Bill in her arms, his stupid face and his stupid hat.</p><p> </p><p>She hated Villanelle for that, for taking Bill from her, from his wife and child too, of course, but it had always felt like something Villanelle had done to her specifically, the others were just unfortunate casualties. Yeah, ok, its his actual family and she’s a self obsessed asshole, yeah, yeah, but that's how it felt.</p><p> </p><p>But at least that anger was easy, it was clear. What she feels now is so much more complicated, she probably does still hate her for that, but much more potently she hates that despite Bill, and despite the bullet, despite Niko and Gemma, and all the other destruction, she can’t stop herself from— she can’t stop herself from anything when it comes to her.  All that the prospect of being with Villanelle again in this city has done is remind Eve that everything she feels is wrong.</p><p> </p><p>It’s made her short, irritable, maybe a little argumentative even. Eve exhales through her nose, no, fine, ok, she’s been a total asshole. And because Villanelle can never just be the way Eve want’s her to be, ever since gently shaking Eve awake once the train stopped, no matter what Eve has said or done,  Villanelle has been nothing but thoughtful and accommodating, and polite. </p><p> </p><p>It’s only pissed Eve off more.</p><p> </p><p>So when Villanelle offered her hand for Eve to step off the train she ignored it. When she bought Eve a packet of crisps at the station she put it in her bag without comment. At the entrance to the hotel where Villanelle was booked in Eve had sniped about who in their right mind would pay a small mortgage to stay somewhere for one night. It had gone on like that, and as always Eve’s only explanation is that she just can't help herself.</p><p> </p><p>She looks around the hotel room now, at the two beds that Villanelle had thoughtfully requested when Eve had turned down a separate room, and briefly wonders what might have happened if she had found a way to just stop doing whatever it is she’s been doing since the station. </p><p> </p><p>She scoffs at herself, she knows what could have happened; more delicate conversation, gentle laughter, lingering looks, gentle hands. Eve’s chest twists at the thought because— the way that things had been on the train felt good, but the thought of having more of it, more of her, here where Villanelle had done this terrible thing, it's just too much.</p><p> </p><p>She could just tell her, Eve supposes. She could tell Villanelle that she’s still furious with her about what she did to Bill, but she’s furious that even Bill doesn’t seem to be enough to stop Eve from wanting— more. The strangest thing is that the Villanelle that Eve saw on the train earlier might even understand. </p><p> </p><p>She could do it.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you have to do that?” Eve asks, watching Villanelle pace around the hotel room brushing her teeth with one hand and playing with her phone in the other.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pauses with the toothbrush hanging out of her mouth, points to herself, makes a noise of confusion before walking back into the bathroom. Eve hears her spit into the sink and the sound of a running tap.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re making me nauseous with all that pacing”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle emerges from the bathroom, still dressed much as she was earlier but her hair is now piled into a haphazard bun on the top of her head.</p><p> </p><p>“You know what Eve? If sharing a room with me is so terrible you should have got your own like I suggested.” She sounds tired.</p><p> </p><p>Eve huffs out a harsh sounding laugh, “Right, so you could just go running back to Barcelona. I told you, I'm not letting you out of my sight until you follow through and take me to see Dasha.”</p><p> </p><p>She watches Villenelle’s jaw work, the way her eyes flare and how her fist clenches and then unclenches with deliberate slowness.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, Eve. That’s why you wanted to share a room.” She snorts, incredulous, and Eve seethes.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“Really?” She sounds bored, “What it means is that I could have text Dasha a thousand times over to tell her that you and your big scary axe are coming for her. But I haven’t because I don’t actually want you to be killed and—”</p><p> </p><p>Eve scoffs, “ —well forgive me if i don’t believe that coming from the person who shot me.”</p><p> </p><p>The speed at which Villanelle can move shocks Eve, almost as much as the hard thud when her back hits the wall, or a hand pressed at her throat. </p><p> </p><p>She knows the sort of violence that Villanelle is capable of, obviously, but this red hot rage is something new. She’d seemed so cold and detached as she threw that woman under the bus or when she’d opened Aaron peels throat but this feels different. </p><p> </p><p>Even after what happened Rome and as terrifying as Villanelle can be, Eve can’t help the thrum of excitement she feels and the knowledge that she has pushed Villanelle to this. That although she can’t control herself, at least Villanelle can’t either.</p><p> </p><p>She can see when it dawns on Villanelle what she’s doing, and the hand on Eve’s throat is removed and placed over her mouth instead. Villanelle holds Eve’s other wrist up above her head and Eve thinks about the first time, in her kitchen in the house she shared with Niko, about how much she had wanted Villanelle to kiss her, and how much she had hated herself for wanting it.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle breathes slowly, then deliberately closes her eyes, calms her temper before she speaks in a low voice, “I told you, I don’t want to hurt you. But I think that isn’t what you want? Do you want me to hurt you? Is that why you keep—“ she pauses looking for the word, “pecking away at me?”</p><p> </p><p>Eve glares at her, furious at her insight or perhaps at herself for making it so obvious.</p><p> </p><p>“But I told you already, I don't want that, and you know what Eve? I don’t have to do things just because you want them.” </p><p> </p><p>She’s so close like this, her whole body pressed right into Eve’s. The distance that she’d previously observed, gone. It’s a heady thing to be so close to something you want so completely but still not take it. Eve’s eyes drop to Villanelle’s mouth and she feels herself press into her body almost imperceptibly. She lets herself look at Villanelle’s mouth, forgets the rough press of lips on the bus, remembering only that it wasn’t enough, let’s herself imagine— leans forward—</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pulls back slightly, and Eve flushes with embarrassment.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle takes a breath, then a deliberate step back, removing her hands holding Eve so tight to the wall, to her body.</p><p> </p><p>“I like it a little rough sometimes too, you don’t need to make me angry if that's what you want, but you are going to have to ask me for it.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve’s face burns, “Fuck you.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle flashes her teeth at her in what might appear to someone else to be a smile, but which Eve knows is anything but. She walks across the room and gathers up her jacket, reaches for a glass on the night stand of one of the beds and takes a long sip of water.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going out. Don’t wait up.” She announces it and then walks straight past Eve and out of the room. The door closes with a quiet click but Eve flinches all the same.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck. Well that could have gone better.</p><p> </p><p>Eve sits down hard on the bed, falls backward like she had done in Paris. Sometimes it might be nice if she was one of those people who could feel something, acknowledge it and then act accordingly. That must be a nice way to be.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle had been right of course, she didn’t need to be here to stop her from contacting Dasha, this new emotionally literate version of Villanelle is possibly the most annoying yet. Had she always had this capacity and Eve just hadn’t been paying attention? </p><p> </p><p>Even the thought that she might have missed this part of Villanelle all this time is unbearable. Was it there in Rome? She thinks about what she said to her, finds herself cringing. Not in pain, or anger as she’s used to but this time she thinks she might feel a bit of— shame.</p><p> </p><p>The sits up abruptly, needing something to occupy her that aren’t circular thoughts about a love starved woman being casually slapped back by yet another person who didn’t bother trying to understand her.</p><p> </p><p>Eve checks her phone, an easy distraction from that horrible realisation, and finds a text from Niko’s father </p><p> </p><ul>
<li>No change </li>
</ul><p> </p><p>The relief at the message and annoyance at being treated like she is irrelevant battle for dominance. She’s his fucking wife for Christ’s sake.</p><p> </p><p>She smooths a hand over her face and walks into the bathroom, the vanity is peppered with expensive looking glass bottles and large indulgent tubs of creams. Her mind turns back to Villanelle, she wants to be irritated. She isn’t.</p><p> </p><p>She lifts up one of the tubs and opens it, lifts it to her face and recognises the light scent from earlier when Villanelle had stood so close and feels— something.</p><p> </p><p>She smooths some of the cream over her face and it’s wonderful— of course it is— so she does it again. Then she picks up the next bottle and does it again. When she’s finished she looks up into the mirror and wonders whether she’ll see Villanelle looking back at her. She doesn’t, obviously, it’s just her, albeit with a well hydrated face. </p><p> </p><p>She takes out her own tooth brush and continues to stare at herself in the mirror. What is she doing here? Yeah, ok there’s the Dasha thing, but Villanelle was right, she really could have just waited for Villanelle to have finished what she was doing in Russia.  </p><p> </p><p>There’s something about the whole Russia thing that doesn’t sit right, she’d looked— off  when Eve had pressed her on it. There’s something that she’s hiding, Eve can feel it.</p><p> </p><p>She finishes brushing her teeth, walks back into the bedroom and opens her bag. Her face flushes when she looks at the contents, one change of clothes and some hastily purchased underwear she’d chosen at Heathrow as part of the whole fixing her marriage thing. But no actual pyjamas. Brilliant.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever she’s going to say to Villanelle once she’s back she certainly won’t be doing it naked. Or worse still, in a set of underwear she’d bought for someone else. She looks round the room and finds what she’s looking for; Villanelle’s backpack.</p><p> </p><p>She shouldn’t do this, it’s a terrible invasion of privacy, she’d be fucking livid if Villanelle did it to her. She gets up and goes to collect the bag, of course she does.</p><p> </p><p>All her clothes are rolled not folded. Eve finds herself almost smiling, feeling disgustingly fond all of a sudden. There’s jumpers, layering tops, a pair of sparkly socks, Eve feels something pull in her chest.</p><p> </p><p>Her hands reach lace and silk and she forces them away.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually she settles on an orange t shirt, out of place amongst all the rich fabrics of the other clothes. She lifts it out and snorts at the picture on the front. The picture of the bear brings Villanelle’s voice with it, “Admit it Eve, you wish I was here”.</p><p> </p><p>She sits back and sighs.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle killed Bill. She killed him right here in this city, and Eve— Eve can sit right here and still feel something for her.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry.” She says it out loud, imagines that he hears it, imagines that he smiles and shrugs indulgently. Dismisses it instantly. Fucking Christ, he was her friend not a saint. No one is just fine about their best friend growing ever more besotted with their murderer.</p><p> </p><p>She pulls off her clothes, puts on the t-shirt and climbs into bed. It smells of her. She stares at the ceiling.</p><p> </p><p>She came here because everything is about Villanelle, even when it isn't it is, and honestly she’s tired of having to act as though that isn't true.</p><p> </p><p>She was a dick tonight, and she acknowledges that Villanelle was probably justified in her anger. </p><p> </p><p>For the first time she lets herself imagine what Villanelle is doing right now. She remembers the two women who snuck out of the studio in London, remembers the burn of jealousy swiftly replaced by embarrassment. Then she remembers Villanelle, open and soft, “I’m not with them, when I’m with them.” Her face imploring Eve to understand.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe that’s where she is right now, hands running over another woman’s skin. Would she be <em> with </em> that woman? Had Eve pissed her off so much that she actually wanted the distraction of focusing on another body. The thought hurts. Not that she has any right to that hurt of course, but there it is nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>She could be out butchering people in the streets of course. Not that that would be better. Obviously. But it might just hurt less.</p><p> </p><p>She turns off the light and stares at the ceiling. She left Niko in a hospital in Poland to chase after her. That can’t just be out of— boredom or something.</p><p> </p><p>“I am sorry Bill.” She tries again.</p><p> </p><p>She feels no less guilty, and still knows that what she feels for Villanelle is wrong. She knows what Villanelle is, what she has done, and she still wants—  everything.</p><p> </p><p>She kicks off the sheet, suddenly hating the passivity of sitting and waiting for Villanelle to come back. She puts on her trousers and parka, she’ll just go to reception and see if she ordered a cab, shes spent the last year finding Villanelle over and over again, she’ll just do it again tonight. Easy. In a city of millions. Where she doesn’t speak much of the language. Whatever. She can’t just sit here. Anyway, the idiot is probably just sitting in the bar downstairs.</p><p> </p><p>This will be fine, she’ll find Villanelle, talk to her and sort this out. What exactly that entails, she is still a little vague on but the words will probably come once she’s in the moment. That's how this is supposed to work, right?</p><p> </p><p>She pauses at the door, realises that she’s really going to do this, she scrubs her hard over her face, she’s really going to make whatever’s going to happen, happen tonight. </p><p> </p><p>She snorts in derision, who’s she kidding? It’s not like she ever had the self control to prevent it anyway.</p><p> </p><p>—//—</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Berlin (ii)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bar on the ground floor of the hotel is dark, lit only by under counter lights and candles on the tables, all but one unoccupied. There is a woman sitting at the far table; fair haired, older, glasses, a laptop and something in a martini glass.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle has been watching her for the last hour and—  thinking. She’s watched the woman nurse the same drink for the duration, watched her rub the back of her neck, soothing an ache brought about by tension maybe, and all the while Villanelle has been thinking about Eve.</p><p> </p><p>She hasn’t wanted to. She thinks perhaps it's been a long time since she actually wanted to think about Eve, but when has she ever been the sort of person to get what she wants?</p><p> </p><p>The woman looks up, catches her eye, Villanelle demures, imagining this is the sort of woman who would want to chase. She glances back to find her still looking and soaks up the satisfaction of being right. </p><p> </p><p>She knows then that she could do it, she could play the younger woman enamoured by the idea and excitement of going upstairs to the suite of an older, powerful woman in a well cut suit. She’s done it before of course, she could do it again. Maybe this woman would taste all the sweeter with Villanelle knowing that she was doing this in the same building where Eve slept.</p><p> </p><p>The woman turns back to her computer and Villanelle idly stirs the glass in front of her. </p><p> </p><p>It was stupid of her to let herself get sucked in again of course, but she’s always been like this. She was like it with Anna too, each and every slap back so cruelly delivered was forgotten instantly in the wake of a glimmer of kindness. Pathetic really.</p><p> </p><p>This slap back wasn't even one of Eve’s more vicious, although maybe it was one of the more swift changes of heart. The space between gentle teasing on the train and shoving her against a wall was less than a few hours after all. Or maybe it's just that Villanelle’s tolerance for the never ending hot and cold is finally at an end. </p><p> </p><p>She finds that she likes that interpretation, likes the idea that her storming out of a hotel room was about regaining agency rather than hurt feelings over an unappreciated bag of crisps. </p><p> </p><p>She looks up to catch her reflection, distorted in the warped mirror behind the bar; the great Villanelle reduced to someone who sits alone in a hotel bar, crying into a cocktail glass because their feelings are hurt. Not that she’s crying, obviously, that's a figure of speech, her eyes have been— misty, on occasion. But she hasn't cried, just to be clear.</p><p> </p><p>The woman is staring again, Villanelle stares back, allows a shy smile to cross her mouth, watches how the woman’s gaze darkens before Villanelle turns back to her drink. She’ll do it she decides, she’ll let this woman believe that she is the predator here, she’ll be scandalised by the things that the woman whispers into her ear in the elevator on the way back to her room. She imagines the woman's surprise when she realises that she hasn’t seduced some naive, inexperienced traveller in a bar, imagines the feel of the woman's thighs shaking against the side of her head, imagines five minutes where she doesn't think about Eve at all. </p><p> </p><p>Ok. So maybe that last bit is a pipe dream. She doesn’t think she’s had sex since she first saw Eve where she hasn’t been thinking of her at least in part. Another part of her life that Eve has taken from her. </p><p> </p><p>She schools her face back to the mask of innocent interest, glances up to meet the woman’s eye again, knowing that it won’t be long before the woman approaches her, glances up— only to see Eve standing in the doorway,</p><p> </p><p>Obviously. </p><p> </p><p>She exhales through her nose and turns back toward the bar. </p><p> </p><p>Eve sits down on the barstool next to her, and waves for the attention of the barman. She’s wearing Villanelle’s t shirt beneath her parka. Huh. Weird.</p><p> </p><p>“Get me something—” Eve gestures vaguely behind where the barman stands taking her order, “something with alcohol. Actually—” She eyes Villanelle’s drink. “What’s that?”</p><p> </p><p>She says it with a faintly mocking tone, Villanelle looks at the tall colourful glass in front of her, straws, fruit slices on the rim and all, then stiffens. “Sex on the beach.” She says indignantly, pauses and then more quietly, “virgin.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who even—? Forget it, fine ok, I’ll have one of those.”</p><p> </p><p>The bartender disappears off and Eve turns on the barstool to face her. When Villanelle turns to look at Eve she finds her looking— amused. </p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing!” She’s holding back laughter. It is very annoying.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Villanelle asks again.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh come on, no one actually orders sex on the beach. Let alone virgin.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes they do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ok. Fine, kids on spring break. They do. But you—” </p><p> </p><p>“But me what—?</p><p> </p><p>“You’re— you’re an international assassin, you’re meant to be cool for christ sake, but you’re sitting here drinking a virgin cocktail, its just—” She pauses, seems to battle with herself for a moment, “—sweet.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle wants to smile, wants to tease back, wants to flirt back. She absolutely refuses to do any of those things. Chooses instead to sniff haughtily, mutter out, “I am cool.” before turning back to her drink. </p><p> </p><p>Eve says nothing, just continues to stare straight at Villanelle.</p><p> </p><p>The bartender brings Eve’s drink, and Villanelle watches in the mirror as Eve tries to rearrange the fruit to be able to sip from the straw and ends up scrunching her nose against a large wedge of pineapple. Villanelle stifles a grin, reminds herself what an asshole Eve is.</p><p> </p><p>Eve takes a breath and Villanelle steels herself.</p><p> </p><p>“Tonight didn’t go very well. We’ve spent less than a day together and already—” Eve tries</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle sniffs dismissively, this doesn't sound much like the start of a grovelling apology.</p><p> </p><p>“You were being nice, and I— I wasn’t” Eve concedes</p><p> </p><p>“You’re never nice.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve huffs out a sort of laugh. “No, probably not. I could try and be nicer?”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle turns to look at Eve incredulously, “Why? I don’t want you to pretend to be nice.” Her patience is coming to the end, can Eve seriously be this obtuse about what Villanelle wants from her?</p><p> </p><p>“Well not being nice hasn’t worked out that well this evening”</p><p> </p><p>“You think I am upset with you because you are not nice?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well—” she shrugs awkwardly, “yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t care if you are mean. I like it— sometimes. I don’t like it when you—” She stops herself, unsure whether she even wants to give Eve the opportunity to correct this. </p><p> </p><p>“Tell me.” She says, leans forward as she asks.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle still hesitates.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ve got another 2 or 3 days till we get to Russia so if neither of us want to end up stabbed or shot we should probably—”</p><p> </p><p>“—I want you to stop pretending.” Villanelle interrupts</p><p> </p><p>Eve blinks in response.</p><p> </p><p>“Stop it. You’re doing it now.” Villanelle snaps</p><p> </p><p>“Doing what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Pretending. You’re doing a face like you don’t know what I mean.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe because I don’t?”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle rolls her eyes, “Fine.” Then stands up about to leave, Eve stops her with a hand on her arm.</p><p> </p><p>“Where are you going?”</p><p> </p><p>“If you’re just going to keep—” she gestures vaguely, exhales through her nose in frustration; “Look, clearly this isn’t a very good idea, us spending time together. It’s not good for either of us. So in the morning, I will book us some flights to Barcelona, you can—” she sighs, “kill Dasha or whatever you are planning to do and then we can go our separate ways.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hold on— thats not what I meant—”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s ok.” Villanelle says it and finds that it kind of is. </p><p> </p><p>“Its not, I—” Eve stops</p><p> </p><p>“This is what happens, again and again and again. I give you these gaps where you could say something, or change something, and you stay quiet. But maybe you are quiet because you really don’t have anything to say. That’s ok, but I don’t want to do it anymore. So you go back upstairs and tomorrow we’ll go and do whatever you want, but then we’re done.” Villanelle pauses, unsure if she wants to give Eve another chance, another silence that she can’t fill. But she makes the same choice she always does; “Ok?”</p><p> </p><p>Eve wants to say something, Villanelle is certain of that but knowing that and having to watch as Eve sits there offering nothing probably hurts more than if she believed that Eve really didn’t care at all. She offers Eve a conciliatory smile, and stands again. She leans toward her and presses a kiss to her cheek, the edge of her mouth. </p><p> </p><p>“Goodnight, Eve.” </p><p> </p><p>“Wait.” </p><p> </p><p>She sighs, raises her eyebrows expectantly. “No. No more waiting for you to make up your mind. So unless you’ve got something to say to me, then I’ve got better things to do this evening.” Her gaze flickers back toward the woman from earlier, Eve looks over her shoulder, sees the woman and reaches out to grip Villanelle’s wrist.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh please.” She pulls Villanelle down back onto the stool opposite. “You’re not going to make me jealous by fucking some random woman in a bar.”</p><p> </p><p>She feels it then, the flash that made her push Eve earlier, slam her against the wall, the flash that made her raise the gun— But she isn’t going to do that, not again.</p><p> </p><p>She licks her lips, takes an exaggerated breath, “I told you before; not everything I do is about you. I want to spend an evening with someone without any pretences, and since you won’t oblige then I will look elsewhere.” She shakes Eves hand off her arm and gets up again.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait—”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle looks at her expectantly, and watches as Eve gulps, comes to some sort of decision and visibly forces herself to sit straighter in her seat.</p><p> </p><p>“I never said—, you don’t have to— you know— with someone else.”</p><p> </p><p>Wait, what? </p><p> </p><p>Villanelle’s eye brows knit together  in confusion, she’s clearly misunderstanding something, but then Eve looks at her in a way that Villanelle isn’t used to.  Shit, she looks— sure.</p><p> </p><p>“Meaning?” Villanelle asks warily.</p><p> </p><p>“Come upstairs with me.”</p><p> </p><p>The words, spoken with what seems like such certainty, sling fast and hot between her legs and Villanelle swallows. She tries to remember that she’s angry, tries to remember that this is sure to be part of the same game that Eve always plays. But then Eve’s hand is on her wrist, she's being tugged to her feet and pulled through the length of the bar toward the elevators, and the reservations become muted.</p><p> </p><p>They pass the woman from earlier, Villanelle feels Eve’s grip tighten on her hand as they do, sees the way Eve looks down at the woman as she passes her. She thinks of the time at the studio apartment in London, remembers how jealous Eve had been, then tries to quieten the voice in her head which reminds her that only Eve wants her when she is looking in the other direction. Pointless really, it doesn’t matter who she is fucking, Villanelle is only ever looking at Eve.</p><p> </p><p>The doors to the elevator are open when they reach them and Eve tugs her inside. She’s going to put a stop to this, she doesn’t want it. Or she does, but not like this. </p><p> </p><p>The doors close, Eve pushes her against the wall, presses a demanding kiss to her mouth and its enough apparently because the moment her back hit the wall of the elevator, all the thoughts were gone.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So I agonised about this. And the next few chapters are written and this is kind of a set plot point now so feel free to have at it, but you won't necessarily be able to change what happens.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Berlin (iii)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So...I stressed you all out with that note huh? </p>
<p>Sorry sorry. I think I was just being dramatic about anxiety over how i wanted to play that chapter. </p>
<p>Anyway, this is early because im struggling to write when theres no pressure on. So after tonight...I have only one chapter fully written. So hopefully that will get me moving.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Villanelle’s back thuds against the same wall she held Eve against earlier, and Eve wonders briefly whether she ought to apologise for being too rough because Christ knows where the confidence to manhandle her around like this is coming from. The moment passes as quickly as it arrived as soon she hears a whine from the back of Villanelle’s throat.</p>
<p>She’s actually doing this then.</p>
<p>Eve slides her hand up the side of Villanelle neck and into her hair, which Eve had pulled from its position on top of her head in the elevator on the way up. She always knew it would be this way, the moment she acknowledged how much she wanted, it was always going to end up like this.</p>
<p>Eve finds herself tugging at Villanelle’s neck to draw her closer still, as if her insistent mouth isn't enough, as if that can’t bring Villanelle as close as she wants her.</p>
<p>Villanelle pulls back slightly, draws a breath, “Are you sure this is what you want?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Eve’s voice is sure and steady, and she likes the way it sounds after so much indecision, after burying this feeling for so long. In this moment there is no Rome, there is no slutty woman in the bar, there is no Niko or Bill or anything, this is just Eve doing what she wants. Finally.</p>
<p>So she pulls at the collar of Villanelle’s jacket and pushes it down her shoulders, she feels Villanelle pull it off the rest off the way, before Villanelle’s hands return to rest heavily at her waist. She smiles into the kiss, lets her other hand drop from Villanelle’s neck to the jut of her collarbone, further still over the curve of her tits, rubs a thumb over a pebbled nipple as she passes, lower again to the place on her stomach where Eve pushed that knife inside her.</p>
<p>It's more than she thought. More than all those times she sat alone and thought of this moment, all the times that she was with someone else whilst imagining and—</p>
<p>“We can always stop—” Villanelle breaks off to sigh prettily as Eve’s thumb strokes where she imagines the scar is, “—if you want to, I mean.”</p>
<p>It takes Eve a second to register the words, a second longer to process what they actually mean.</p>
<p>She pulls back slightly, breathes into the shared air between them, looks up at Villanelle to see her cheeks dashed with a pretty flush of pink, her hair tusselled in way that makes Eve desperate to see it tangled against fresh white sheets, and its then that she really pays attention to Villanenelle’s hands resting very respectfully on her hips, exactly where Villanelle has kept them since the elevator doors closed behind them in the lobby and Eve had— oh god, Eve had completely thrown herself at her.</p>
<p>That’s when Eve realises that where she has allowed herself to be greedy, Villanelle has been restrained, where Eve has taken, Villanelle has allowed. That where Eve has felt such utter fucking relief at being able to give into this insistent all possessing desire, Villanelle has— Jesus Christ— she has just— tolerated it.</p>
<p>“Do you want to stop?” Eve asks, feeling sick at what she is almost sure the answer is going to be.</p>
<p>Villanelle looks sheepish, refuses to meet Eve’s gaze, shrugs a shoulder. “Kind of?”</p>
<p>Eve blinks, lets the mortification wash over her and takes a step back.</p>
<p>“No, wait, Eve—” Villanelle reaches out to her, their fingers brush but Eve steps back again.</p>
<p>“It's fine.” She hears herself say.</p>
<p>“No, you— you look upset, I don't want you to be upset, I didn't mean it like you think—”</p>
<p>“—It's late.” Eve scrubs a hand over her face, refuses to look at Villanelle, “We should go to bed. Separately. We as separate people should go to bed. Separately.”</p>
<p>When she does look up at Villanelle she's caught her lip between her teeth and is holding back what could only be read as soft indulgence, she's clearly trying to be reassuring and Eve feels the old urge to lash out. She looks away and tries to make herself ignore it.</p>
<p>“It's not that I don’t want you, obviously, you are—” she leaves the sentence hanging, leaves Eve desperate for and dreading the rest of it. “But I’m still angry about tonight and— other things, and you are—” she pauses, gestures vaguely in Eve’s direction, “you are still whatever it is that you are tonight, and I guess all of that made it not— feel right— you know?”</p>
<p>“Maybe you shouldn’t have suggested it then.” Eve snaps despite herself and walks toward her bed to sit down heavily.</p>
<p>Villanelle snorts in response. “I didn’t think you’d actually say yes. I just said it. I wanted you to just be— honest.”</p>
<p>“With you?”</p>
<p>“Sure, but also with yourself.”</p>
<p>Neither of them speaks for a moment, until Villanelle breaks the silence with a quiet, “Why did you?”</p>
<p>Eve knows what she’s asking, knows that she doesn’t want to answer, but also knows that if she’s going to reset what happened tonight that she needs to give Villanelle the truth she says that she wants.</p>
<p>“Because I wanted to”</p>
<p>Villanelle deflates a little, and she runs her hands over face looking so tired all of a sudden.</p>
<p>“That’s been true before.” She presses, “Why now, why did you agree to actually do this tonight?”</p>
<p>She searches for the right words, knowing that to prevaricate now would break whatever there is between them in a way that she isn’t sure that she knows how to mend. “I dIdn’t want things to be done between us.”</p>
<p>She lets out a breath, closes her eyes and realises that admitting it, finally, this inability to let Villanelle go, didn’t cause the world to end.</p>
<p>“I thought things were done after Rome, and I’m so fucking angry with you, but— I was so—. I don’t know exactly what I want, but I know that I don’t want us to be done.” She breathes out, another closely guarded truth revealed and the world didn't end this time either.</p>
<p>She looks up to find Villanelle staring at her intently, furious again, “So you thought you’d fuck me, to what— keep me interested?”</p>
<p>“What? No! You’re the one who said if I didn’t oblige then you’d find someone who would.”</p>
<p>Villanelle scoffs, “Right. I pressured you into it. Of course.”</p>
<p>“No. I didn't mean it like that. I wanted it, I did. So just stop. Ok. None of this is coming out right. I just didn’t want us to be done and didn’t know what else to do.”</p>
<p>Villanelle pushes herself away from the wall and walks over to her bed, sits down heavily on the far side from Eve.</p>
<p>Villanelle sighs, “So, what? You don’t want us to be done. Ok. Fine. But what if I do?”</p>
<p>“Do you?” Eve asks uncertainly, then watches as Villanelle’s shoulders slump.</p>
<p>“Yes? No? I don’t know.” She sounds tired.</p>
<p>“I was a dick tonight.”</p>
<p>Villanelle snorts in response. “I told you already, I don’t care that you are a dick, I care that—”</p>
<p>“—you don’t want me to pretend anymore. I know.” She huffs out a breath. “Listen, I was a dick tonight because— because being here with you after what happened— after what you did to Bill is difficult and I didn’t know how to just tell you that.” It comes out faster than she’d like, less self assured.</p>
<p>Villanelle goes very still for a moment, and Eve wonders whether the words have registered at all. Jesus, whether she even remembers, there have been so many bodies after all, and who was Bill to Villanelle? No one.</p>
<p>“We’ve both done a lot of things to hurt each other.” Her voice is much smaller than Eve is used to. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”</p>
<p>It’s not an apology, and suddenly Eve thinks that maybe she didn’t want one. Maybe she doesn’t want the responsibility of having to forgive her. So she nods, then realises its stupid with Villanelle’s back still facing her. “Me either.”</p>
<p>She sees Villanelle nod too, but she says nothing.</p>
<p>“Do you still—” she clears her throat which feels too tight all of a sudden, “—do you still want us to be done?”</p>
<p>“I don’t want the hot and cold anymore. If you’re angry with me just tell me, but if you aren’t— if you— like me, can’t you just let yourself?”</p>
<p>It prompts Eve to take a step closer, the urge to reach out and touch her shoulder almost overwhelming. She stops herself because of what happened earlier, unsure her touch would be welcomed now.</p>
<p>“It’s not— sometimes what I want to do and what I end up doing aren’t the same thing.” Eve says it quietly too, as if anything more would be too heavy against the delicacy of this moment.</p>
<p>Villanelle seems less concerned and snorts before responding, “You think?”</p>
<p>Eve allows herself a smile, “Shut up. I’ll try. Ok. I’ll try.”</p>
<p>Villanelle’s shoulders sag, and she lifts a hand up to her face. Eve wonders whether she’s wiping away tears, so this time Eve does reach out, a gentle hand on her shoulder blade, there for a few seconds then gone.</p>
<p>“But—” she pauses, struggles to find the words, “I need— I need to know that you’ll give me space to decide how I feel about things. I’m saying— I’m saying that despite everything I— I still meant what I said in Paris, I still want to know everything, to know you. Sometimes I just need a minute to remember that so I need you to be patient with me and not—”</p>
<p>‘—shoot you if you say something I don’t like?”</p>
<p>Eve huffs gentle laugh, “I was going to say throw me against a wall if I’m being a dick, but yeah, same point I guess.”</p>
<p>Villanelle’s back is still toward her but she sees her nod in response.</p>
<p>“What time is the train tomorrow?” She asks, looking for a change in subject, anything to make the atmosphere slightly less heavy.</p>
<p>Villanelle turns then, “I thought you wanted to go to Barcelona?”</p>
<p>“No, I mean we’re halfway to Moscow now, and it seems stupid to change all the plans because of one shitty night so—”</p>
<p>She smiles slightly at that, an acknowledgment of Eve’s concession perhaps. “Thank you, Eve.”</p>
<p>Eve nods in response, but lets the silence hang for a moment unsure whether to ask, decides to anyway, “Are we— ok?”</p>
<p>Villanelle pulls a face that Eve doesn’t understand. “You’re wearing my t-shirt.”</p>
<p>Eve looks down self consciously, “Erm— yeah sorry. I didn’t plan this— so, I don’t have any pyjamas.”</p>
<p>She watches as Villanelle works her jaw to stifle a smile, “I wouldn’t let just anyone wear my clothes.” She shrugs a shoulder, “Keep it, you look cute.”</p>
<p>Eve feels herself flush.</p>
<p>“We’re ok, I think.” Villanelle says, but doesn’t look at Eve when she says it.</p>
<p>“Ok. Good. And thank you— for the t-shirt.”</p>
<p>She shrugs again, “I am going to change now, ok?”</p>
<p>“Right, er, yes, sure. I’ll just--” Eve gestures to her bed and barrates herself being quite this stuttery and embarrassing in the face of what is quite an innocent statement. Once back in her bed she turns her back to give Villanelle some privacy, but can’t help the way her mind works to fill in the blanks as she listens to the sound of the light shuffling of clothing. She wants to turn, she wants to look, she can admit it now, even if it doesn’t feel right to actually let herself turn and watch. That’s kind of progress, isn’t it?</p>
<p>“Can I switch the lights out?” Villanelle whispers.</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p>When the light flicks off she turns back toward Villanelle to find her staring at her in the darkness.</p>
<p>“Would you have done it? That woman I mean, if I hadn’t—” The words feel clunky in her mouth, too revealing, and the second they are out she wishes them back.</p>
<p>Villanelle blinks, chews her lip, shrugs a shoulder.</p>
<p>Eve isn't sure how to respond. The jealousy burns hotter than it has any right to, and it makes Eve long to lash out even more strongly than before. She swallows it down.</p>
<p>“Ok.” Eve thinks about the terms of this new truce, takes a breath, wants to ask for something but isn’t sure how Villanelle will react. She makes a decision, “I don’t want you to do that anymore, on this trip I mean, even if you’re angry with me.”</p>
<p>Villanelle stares at her, and Eve wonders whether she’s over stepped.</p>
<p>“Ok Eve.”</p>
<p>Eve lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and Villanelle blinks at her reaction surprised perhaps that Eve would be so visibly relieved.</p>
<p>She lets it pass.</p>
<p>“Goodnight.”</p>
<p>"Night."</p>
<p>Villanelle turns on her back and her hair sweeps over her shoulders. Eve's fingers itch at the memory of it weaved around them. She closes her eyes and tries to sleep without thinking about Bill's weight in her arms, and earnest pleas that Eve just let herself feel whatever it is that has been twisting inside her chest for longer than she can say.</p>
<p>She listens as Villanelle's breathing evens out with sleep, and is occasionally interrupted by a snuffling series of quiet little snorts. Eve lets the fondness that she feels for this woman wash over her without deliberately forcing herself to remember the bullet and all the other shit, then she makes a decision.</p>
<p>She meant what she said earlier, she'll do it, she's going to try.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 09:26 Berlin to  Kostrzyn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well. Here it is. The last pre written chapter. Don't I feel a bit trigger happy for posting two last week.</p><p>I genuinely can't remember how I was able to put together a twelve year narrative, set to a non linear tracklist and then write AND post it all within about 5 weeks. Clearly I was insane but also.....I miss that person.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Polite Eve is— weird.</p><p> </p><p>Eve pinning her against a wall and kissing the shit out of her was also pretty weird. Eve finally admitting that she doesn’t want anyone else to have her, even if only on this trip, again that was weird too.</p><p> </p><p>But that was last night and this morning has brought with it polite Eve and that really is weird.</p><p> </p><p>Polite Eve offered to let her use the shower first this morning. She made sure a coffee was waiting for Villanelle once she had finished. She offered to settle half the bill when they checked out. God, she’d even offered to carry Villanelle’s bag to the taxi.</p><p> </p><p>So yeah, polite Eve is weird.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle has been good though, she hasn’t said anything. Eve is trying. She can see that, and mostly she just appreciates being taken seriously. But also— its kind of annoying.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe she went in too hard last night, because whilst she really is sick of the pretending, and she does hate the gentle pull and the harsh push back, but what she doesn’t hate is the other side of it. </p><p> </p><p>Because sometimes it’s Eve pretending not to be charmed, even though Villanelle can tell that she is. She likes that type of pretending. That’s the type that makes her cheeks pinch from smiling, it makes her chest ache but in a good way. But somehow in all of the drama of the night before she seems to have made Eve believe that she wants politeness.</p><p> </p><p>Ugh. Communicating with other people really is the worst.</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty view of the mountains.” Eve says looking out the window.</p><p> </p><p>“Yup. Yes it is.” </p><p> </p><p>God. </p><p> </p><p>Is this what Villanelle has to look forward to for the next few days? Maybe she should have just let Eve fuck her last night, that would have made her less polite at least. </p><p> </p><p>Or maybe— no, god, that's way off base, Eve is definitely an awkward morning after person, Villanelle is sure of it. She questions exactly why she turned Eve down last night if she still has to suffer through this boring faux courtesy the next morning regardless. </p><p> </p><p>But she knows why— feelings. Yuk.</p><p> </p><p>It's been a long time since she had to worry about sex and feelings. If feelings weren’t a problem she would be sitting here pleasantly satisfied right now, and even if she would still be enduring the politeness then at least it would be  whilst feeling the delicious occasional pull of memories from the night before.</p><p> </p><p>And yeah ok, they hadn’t done <em> it, </em> but what they had done had been— yeah. She fidgets in her seat slightly, Villanelle has pictured it a lot of different ways but she can safely say that feral Eve slamming her against a wall, with her unashamedly greedy hands was definitely a thing. </p><p> </p><p>But then— the feelings happened and she found that she didn't want this first time to be shaped so heavily by bad atmosphere and anger, and in spite of all the sexy-against-wall-kissing stuff, Villanelle had still been more than a little hurt and pissed off.</p><p> </p><p>She still is, a bit. But Eve is trying, and so Villanelle is trying. </p><p> </p><p>And god it’s boring.</p><p> </p><p>“So, are you normally an awkward morning after person because I know we didn’t actually follow through but you came pretty close to fucking me against a wall last night and—“ Eve sputters a mouth full of coffee all over the table and Villanelle snorts out a laugh as Eve starts mopping up with a napkin.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry.” Eve says graciously to the man sitting in the seat opposite her, then under her breath to Villanelle, “do we really have to talk about this now?” She glances round nervously at the train full with commuters.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine. No one will speak English.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t we still in Germany? Most of these people will speak better English than you.” </p><p> </p><p>“Speak for yourself.” She drawls out in her best east coast accent.</p><p> </p><p>Eve rolls her eyes and Villanelle smiles. This was what she wanted. She likes the game when it’s like this. But then Eve looks awkward again— urgh.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s ok if you are an awkward morning after person, it’s just good to know so—“</p><p> </p><p>“— I’m not,” she pauses, looks as flustered as ever then continues at a whisper, “I’m not being awkward about the wall— thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Eve.” She raises her eyebrows incredulously.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not!” Eve stresses, “ seriously.”</p><p> </p><p>“So why are you being so—“ Villanelle waves her hand vaguely at her, “— polite?”</p><p> </p><p>Eve blink at her, buries her head in her hands and laughs.</p><p> </p><p>Ok. Polite Eve is weird but probably still better than maniacal laughter Eve. Probably.</p><p> </p><p>The man sitting next to Eve gives Villanelle a look and she shrugs back at him. As if she ever has any control over how Eve behaves.</p><p> </p><p>“Eve?”</p><p> </p><p>After a few seconds she sits back in her seat, and huffs out another laugh. She sighs deeply and looks resigned. </p><p> </p><p>“I have no idea how to act around you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve exhales through her nose, then leans forward over the table toward Villanelle. “No, don’t be like that. You wanted me to be honest well, the honest answer is that I have no idea what I’m doing.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle glances at the people sitting around them, at least three of them trying hard to seem as though they are not listening, and she curses trains with no reserved seating that she could have bought out and kept this moment as her's and Eve's alone. </p><p> </p><p>She didn’t care when she thought this was going to be a light hearted talk about how much Eve wants to fuck her against a wall, but now that it’s circling back round to feelings again she wishes she could legitimately slaughter every last person in the carriage who is intruding on what is turning out to be another delicate moment.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle lets one of her hands drift under the table and settle lightly on Eve’s knee, she can feel how she startles at the initial contact and how she stills when their gazes meet and hold.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle leans across the table, encouraging Eve to do the same. Eve glances nervously at the people sitting around them and hesitates.</p><p> </p><p>“I'm not going to do anything, you prude. I just want to tell you something.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve hesitates for another beat before leaning over the table to meet her. Villanelle leans closer toward Eve’s ear, congratulates herself on her self restraint at not burying her face in Eve’s curls and whispers “I don’t want you to act like anything, I just like you. So, just— be that. Ok?”</p><p> </p><p>She sits back and tries to read Eve’s expression, struggles but takes the slight flush on her cheeks to be a good thing. </p><p> </p><p>“Ok?” </p><p> </p><p>“Ok.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, pleased with herself that she has been able to be the one to manoeuvre them through whatever minefield Eve had talked herself into overnight. So often it seems to be her that is left completely unsure of what she is meant to do or what to say, it's nice to be the mature one.</p><p> </p><p>The majority of the commuters leave the train twenty minutes later, leaving the carriage mostly empty again.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s in Russia?” Eve asks suddenly.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Something for you then?”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle smiles faintly, despite how annoying this specific line of questioning is she is reminded again how much she enjoys the way Eve’s mind works. “A job. I told you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bullshit.”</p><p> </p><p>She tilts her head appraisingly. “Maybe. But I meant what I said, it's nothing for you. So turn that noisy brain off and enjoy this trip with me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tiresome think bucket.” Eve laughs slightly.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle’s face screws up in slight confusion.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry.” Eve waves it away, “it's nothing.”. </p><p> </p><p>“Tell me.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve hesitates.</p><p> </p><p>“Its what Frank called me. After Vienna, I knew it was you or I knew it was who I’d been chasing, then Bill—” She stops suddenly. “Is this ok? Talking about this?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don't know—” Villanelle says quietly, “—if you want to talk about your friend I will listen? I want to know about your life.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve looks at her, with a slightly bemused expression. “I meant because of what you did.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. Right. Umm— so same answer I think? It's ok, if you want to? We both know what I did, I didn’t do it to hurt you but I know that I did. I wouldn’t do it again. So— is that ok?”</p><p> </p><p>It's a crap apology, Villanelle knows that, but she really isn't sure how else to say it.</p><p> </p><p>Eve face does something, and again she can't read it.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t read your faces, if you want me to understand you need to tell me what you’re thinking.”</p><p> </p><p>“I'm thinking that was a shitty apology.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle knows what Eve wants to ask, and watches as she seems to struggle with whether or not to do it.</p><p> </p><p>“You want to know why I did it?”</p><p> </p><p>Eve says nothing for a moment, then nods.</p><p> </p><p>“I wanted you, he was in the way of something I wanted so I got rid of him.” She shrugs. “It was just part of the game.”</p><p> </p><p>It visibly punches the air out of Eve’s lungs and Villanelle reaches out across the table, but Eve shrinks back.</p><p> </p><p>“You said you wanted to know me. You shouldn't expect to like all of— it.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve says nothing and Villanelle feels sick, but this was always coming. If she was ever going to let Eve in, really let her in, there was always going to be a point where it would be too much. Where Eve would see exactly what was inside her and turn away. Maybe it's better that it's come now. </p><p> </p><p>They can’t be more than 20 minutes from where they need to get off and change trains now, its somewhere in Poland so Eve can just get off this train and go. She can go back to her husband, having satisfied her curiosity for the darkness and live out the rest of her life in peace. And Villanelle will just— she’ll just carry on. </p><p> </p><p>She’ll go to Russia find whoever is waiting for her there, the person who will understand her and maybe one day they’ll share stories about the people from the past who never got it, who never got them. She'll tell them about Eve and it won't hurt at all.</p><p> </p><p>“When you said 'gentleman'—” Eve starts and Villanelle looks up, “in Rome. I left the hotel room to come for you and found the boy who came with me from London, he was shot in the hallway. He was bleeding out from the stomach, all I could think about was—, so I stepped over him and came to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle says nothing. </p><p> </p><p>“Hugo wasn’t anyone to me, not really, and I left him to die because I wanted to come to help you. Hugo probably has a best friend, probably has a family, but it didn't make me do anything different. I won’t ever forgive what you did to Bill, if Hugo had died I doubt his family would forgive me. There are things about you that I don’t like, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to know.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, unsure what she is allowed to say. But this is Eve clearly trying to meet her in the middle, and she knows that more than anything she wants to try to do the same. So if Eve can’t forgive but will put it aside then maybe that’s enough.</p><p> </p><p> “I want to know you too.” Villanelle says and means it.</p><p> </p><p>Eve lets out a breath. “A lot of shit has happened so this probably won’t be the last time that we have this kind of...bump.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ok. So— did you want to talk it all out now?” Villanelle asks tentatively.</p><p> </p><p>“God no.” Eve laughs, “I’ve definitely reached my deep emotional conversation quota for the day.” She tips her head back against the seat and closes her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle nods, completely relieved. “I want to sort things out too but also we could just enjoy the holiday sometimes?”</p><p> </p><p>Eve pulls her head back up and looks at Villanelle,  clearly amused.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re travelling to Russia so you can do some weird secret thing, and then back to Barcelona so I can maybe kill someone. How is this a holiday?”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle grins and raises her eyebrows as a plan starts to form.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh God.” Eve says and lets her head fall back. “What are you—?”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle pulls her face into a caricature of innocence; “You want a holiday? I will give you a holiday.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want a holiday. I want an uneventful train ride where nothing happens.”</p><p> </p><p>“Relax. I have a great idea.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve looks at her seriously for a long moment.</p><p> </p><p>“No museums.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs with glee. “I hate museums. I thought you’d love them?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why? Because I’m old?”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle laughs despite herself and Eve flicks the remainder of a croissant at her across the table.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey! I don’t care how old you are. But you are not old. You are beautiful and terrible and—“</p><p> </p><p>“—terrible? You literally kill people for a living. How am I the terrible one?” Eve says it with all the teasing and lightness that had been missing from the morning and Villanelle can’t help the voice in her head that whispers that maybe this is turning a corner.</p><p> </p><p>She stuffs it down as best she can, but it’s there. </p><p> </p><p>“Then maybe we are both terrible.” She tries.</p><p> </p><p>Eve looks at her for a few seconds before replying, “Maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>Villanelle can’t help smiling in response before she pulls out her phone. “Now, stop distracting me. I have a tourist experience to plan.”</p><p> </p><p>Eve sinks back into her chair, “Oh god.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. 11:34 Kostrzyn to Warsaw</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Yes. I hear you, Maciek. But if you could just put the phone near his ear then I could explain and— hello? Maciek?” Eve looks down at her phone to see that Niko’s father has hung up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Great. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She rests her forehead against the cold metal wall in front of her and then quickly recoils when she remembers that this is a public toilet. On a train. Ew.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She isn’t— hiding— this from Villanelle. She really isn’t. It's just that whatever is happening here, she does still have a husband who is severely ill and she’s his wife and—  and checking in on him is the right thing to do. She just doesn’t need silently judgmental, hazel eyes as an audience whilst she does it. She knows what Villanelle thinks of Niko, what she thinks of Eve’s marriage, and quite frankly she could do without hearing it. That is the only reason that she slunk off to make the call rather than just telling Villanelle, she tells herself all that  before catching her reflection in the mirror. Fuck. Even with only herself as an audience she looks— guilty. Which is obviously ridiculous.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She washes her hands before leaving but instead of heading back to the weird number of empty seats surrounding those Villanelle has booked for them she sinks down into an unoccupied chair in the carriage before. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She exhales and closes her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She isn't hiding this from Villanelle, really. She agreed to stop pretending, and weirdly she finds that actually she wants to. She just wonders whether Villanelle is capable of accepting that regardless of whatever she feels for Villanelle, she was married to Niko for more than ten years and those feelings don’t disappear just because they made out a little last night.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ok. Ok, fine. Made out a lot. But that doesn’t undo years of tying herself into the life of another person, and allowing herself to be entangled in theirs. So she’s done nothing wrong here, and she needs to stop acting like it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She stands and walks straight back to the bank of seats and to Villanelle.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you want to play thumb war?” Villanelle asks hopefully as Eve approaches.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, you know.” she extends her hands over the table and wingles her thumbs, “It's a long way to Warsaw and I thought—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No. No, erm I just— I just went to the bathroom and phoned to try and speak to Niko.” Eve’s voice comes out hurried.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok—?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, i'm telling you about it and I’m not hiding it. I just wanted to do it in private.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle looks confused. “Do you normally call people whilst you’re peeing?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wasn’t—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you ever called me when you were peeing?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t call you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You did. You left me lots of cute clingy girlfriend voicemails,” she does a little half shrug, “it made me smile.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I'm not your girlfriend.” She says it as if it's a reflex, and maybe this need to deny everything is, what’s a lifetime of conditioning to overcome after all. Villanelle only smiles in response, “But you agree you were clingy?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve opens her mouth to respond, frowns at having been so easily caught, “Shut up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle grins at that, shrugs again and relaxes back into the seat. “So, how is the moustache?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok. I think. He can’t speak—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“—</span>
  <span>a pitchfork will do that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eve feels amusement pull at her mouth, she refuses to let it out despite Villanelle’s quick and playful raise of her eyebrows encouraging Eve to play too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“His Father won’t let me speak to him,”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The dad that hates you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>“Oh you have no idea. I literally just phoned up to speak to my injured husband and I got this massive schtick about how he never should have married me and how im a total ball ache and</span>—<span>” Villanelle snorts to interrupt her.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”, She asks only for Villanelle raise an eyebrow in response, a smirk too, “Shut up.” Eve stuffs down the amusement again, tries to keep her face blank.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why did you come marching back up here like it was some big announcement?” Villanelle asks, head tilted slightly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Why, indeed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because- because I didn’t tell you I was going to do it, and I promised I’d- you know-  try to be- honest, or however you put it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok, so why didn't you want to tell me you were going to do it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve hesitates, thinks again how annoying this new perceptive side of Villanelle is.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because it felt weird after- after last night.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle chews on her bottom lip a little to stifle down a smile. “You kissed me, Eve. You didn’t propose.” She smiles, clearly finding this whole thing very amusing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I know. It just- don’t worry about it. Ignore me. How long till we get to Warsaw?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Four hours.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a really long time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not if we play thumb war” Villanelle answers helpfully and proffers her hand across the table again. Eve looks down as her outstretched fingers and again the word elegant comes to mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A flash of memory taunts her as she pictures how those strong hands held still at her hips last night, of how Villanelle clearly wanted more despite herself. Just the thought of feeling them on her bare skin is enough to make Eve-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are we playing?” Villanelle asks impatiently.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Er- yeah. Yeah, ok.” Eve reaches out and lets Villanelle lace her fingers around Eve’s and put them in position to play.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>“One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb</span>—<span>”</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>“</span>—a<span>re you kidding?”</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>“</span>—<span>this is how you play Eve, God.”</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>‘Ok, ok”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle wins the first round. And the next. And the next. The fourth time Eve’s thumb is pressed down under Villanelle’s, she draws her hand back quickly in a flash of temper.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Urgh. Why are you so good at this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I'm good at everything.” Villanelle intones sagely.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve snorts. “God you’re annoying.”, a lazy smile tugs at Villanelle’s mouth and Eve can hear the words without Villanelle having said them; </span>
  <em>
    <span>but you like me anyway.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We had a movie night, every fortnight at the orphanage. One time it was this shitty version of Star Wars, but all the character were played by people’s thumbs-” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Im sorry, what?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Weird right? But it got us all playing thumb war for the next few months. I broke four older children’s thumbs and two fingers.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looks so pleased with herself at that and Eve can’t keep the bark of laughter in. “So- this is your way of telling me I’ve been hustled by a semi pro thumb wrestler?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t joke Eve, thumb war is the miniature golf of martial arts, and I take miniature golf very seriously.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugs a shoulder, still looking exceedingly pleased with herself and Eve is struck by just how badly she wants to kiss her, but instead decides to satisfy herself with an attempt to pull back a further layer from the woman in front of her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What was it like?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The orphanage?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>She looks a little surprised by the question. “Well, it was an orphanage so</span>— <span>not that great? Mostly it was boring. The other children were boring. The teachers were boring.”</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve tilts her head to one side, feels the excitement of another piece of the puzzle about to be offered up, and of course she wants more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you end up there?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle’s whole body stiffens ever so slightly, in the same way she had the day before when pressed about why she was going to Russia. Eve can see the way she deliberately relaxes, and at the realisation that she has stumbled upon something Villanelle is trying to keep from her, the urge to pick away at that veneer is too strong to ignore. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened to your family?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as the words are out she knows that she has misstepped. All the warmth disappears from Villanelle’s face as she leans forward across the table and flashes her teeth in an approximation of a smile. “Why? Do you think I killed them? Maybe I woke up in the middle of the night with a bad dream, you know how little kids are, and slaughtered them in their sleep? Hmm? Would that be an interesting enough origin story for your psychopath fetish?” Her voice drips with cold menace but she still finds a way to make it seem like mockery. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>Before she allows herself to question the instinct Eve moves her hand to Villanelle’s cheek as she leans across the table, ignoring the twinge in her shoulder at the sudden movement. She watches as Villanelle blinks in surprise. “Don’t do that.” Villanelle recoils slightly in annoyance at being told what to do but Eve strokes a thumb across her cheek and she stills. “If you don’t want to tell me something, just say that. You don’t need to do</span>— <span>whatever that was.”</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle looks straight into her eyes and thinks that this is how it is to really see a person. She looks so young when she’s like this, with her face stripped of the artifice and sarcasm. Eve’s heart hammers in her chest and Villanelle nods lightly before very gently backing away from Eve’s hand to break the moment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No one speaks and Villanelle stares out the window rather than look at Eve which on the one hand she is grateful for but on the other she is loathed to let this moment, this connection end.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a reflex isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle turns back to Eve, her face carefully blank but not unreceptive.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“To snap at each other rather than talk.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle nods, takes a breath, “I don’t want to talk about my family.” She says it very firmly and Eve knows that that door is closed, and she finds that she wants to respect that rather than pick away at it until she gets the answers in the way that she might have in the past.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok, then.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle turns back to the window and leaves Eve free to stare at her profile. She doesn’t think that Villanelle killed her family, that doesn’t make sense. Of course, Villanelle can be violent and cruel, no one knows that better than her. But she has never hidden that side of herself, she wants Eve to see all that. For her to lash out rather than reveal what happened makes Eve think that whatever happened was far worse. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Abuse of some kind, maybe? The thought makes her stomach roll and her fingers ache with an urge to break something. That’s not a surprise though, she’s always felt weirdly protective of her. She remembers her race across Rome to save her from Aaron Peel. Stupid of course, Villanelle is more than capable of taking care of herself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>Whatever happened with her family, Eve decides it will be something that she waits for Villanelle to offer rather than forcing it out. If she</span>—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you here Eve?” Villanelle speaks to break her train of thought. “Really, why are you here?” She looks at Eve, her face open and focused, and Eve feels the tightness in her chest that so often accompanies a moment which feels important.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s here for a lot of reasons. She’s here for Dasha, and for Niko, and for Kenny, but she is also here for herself. She could give Villanelle a hundred vaguely plausible explanations, but instead she chooses the answer she thinks Villanelle needs to hear.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanted to see you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve watches as her throat bobs, watches as she chews lightly on her lower lip, watches as she nods briefly before turning back to the window.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve lets out a shaky breath, and thinks that she must have passed whatever test that was and watches as Villanelle turns back to face her again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I'm glad you came.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So this fic will have to go on hiatus for a week in anticipation of KE week which starts next Monday.</p>
<p>I shall try to make it worth your while - current plans can be found here: <a href="https://twitter.com/spayne_fic/status/1365971295352066053"> KE week nonsense</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Warsaw (i)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the delay - the break for KE week really screwed with my rhythm and it took ages to get back into this fic's headspace.</p>
<p> Hopefully this means the next few will come a bit easier. We'll see.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The hotel feels different to the one in Berlin. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not least because of the obvious— where the hotel in Berlin leaned into the old time majesty of pre war europe, this suite is all clean lines and modern luxury, but rather because, weirdly enough, Eve seems— kind of ok.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There had been part of Villanelle that was braced for the turn around, for the sharp shock that inevitably followed a show of Eve’s— whatever it is that she feels for Villanelle. But so far it hasn’t come and that has been a little disorientating. She has felt herself watching Eve, looking for some kind of tell so she can brace for the rug to be pulled. But so far it hasn’t come.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She brushes the powder over her cheeks and watches Eve’s reflection  through the slightly ajar door as she applies lipstick in the bathroom mirror. When Eve glances up and catches her watching she can feel the flush which must stain her cheeks as she quickly looks away. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's not something Villanelle has ever really done before; watching a woman get ready like this. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She learnt to contour on Youtube, it's not like she had a mother who wanted to teach her stuff like that. She vaguely remembers her mother’s dressing table, and her mother sitting at it, cigarette smoke hanging in the air above her head and only being allowed to stay insofar as her presence went undetected.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Anna would hurriedly pull on her clothes and sit in front of the mirror on her vanity, pressing her hair back into place for when Maxi was due home whilst Villanelle lay in the bed behind her until the last possible moment, burning with jealousy that this whole performance was only ever for someone else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It feels quite different to watch a woman get ready in anticipation for an evening with her. It feels oddly intimate, more so maybe than being kissed by her in Berlin, this almost feels like something she shouldn’t be allowed to see. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She glances up again to find Eve’s attention turned back to her own reflection and Villanelle lets herself watch. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re staring.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Their eyes meet in the reflection again but this time Villanelle forces herself to not look away, and instead nods. Eve’s eyebrows pull flat across her face and she looks bemused but indulgent, before putting the lipstick away in her wash bag and coming out to sit on the bed behind Villanelle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So. Are you going to tell me where we’re going tonight?” She asks</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nope.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eve snorts in response, rolls her eyes and sits back to watch Villanelle as she carefully applies mascara. If she hasn’t ever really watched a woman get ready before, it occurs to her now that probably a woman has never watched her do this either. The closest she’s been to this sort of casual intimacy is probably Konstantin. Or maybe Dasha? God, what a depressing thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is nice.” Villanelle says watching Eve carefully in the mirror as she raises her eyes questioningly. “This—” She gestures around the room and vaguely in the direction of Eve with the mascara, “— you know, us, in a— a gap.”  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eve tilts her head but says nothing. Villanelle rolls her eyes, “Ok, so I like the other stuff too, the chasing and the— whatever, but this is nice. Sometimes. A lot of this trip has been nice—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eve snorts again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“—Ok, well the bits where we haven't been fighting have been— nice.” She pauses and the silence stretches, “ but some of the fighting has been— ok too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eve looks uncomfortable and takes a breath before answering, “It's not what I expected.” She hesitates, seems uncertain whether to continue or not, then sighs roughly and scrubs a hand down her face. “I shouldn’t be here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Villanelle turns back to her reflection and reaches for another brush, for anything to do with her hands that isn't fiddle anxiously.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'm not saying that I don’t want to be.” Eve rushes out, “just that I probably shouldn’t.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Probably not.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why did you let me come?” She asks and Villanelle avoids her gaze in the mirror, knowing that it's one thing to ask Eve uncomfortable probing questions but something else entirely to have to answer them in kind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There are a hundred answers to that question, she allowed it out of love, and boredom, because she’s self destructive, or that she went along with it out of curiosity. They’re all true to a greater or lesser extent but she doesn't want to give Eve any of them. Not whilst she is still so fickle in her reactions to Villanelle.  All of those truths potentially hit a little too closely to the unresolved hurt from what she’d said in Rome for Villanelle to fully trust her with them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Because I like you, and I don’t want you to die, and no offence but Dasha would absolutely kill you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She sees Eve stiffen slightly in the mirror, her pride clearly stung. “I could kill Dasha.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Villanelle barks out a laugh and turns to face her, “Sure. Ok. Eve.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What? I could. I stabbed you didn’t I?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She tips her head in concession,”Mmm. True.”, then stage whispers as if utterly scandalised; “Are you going to pretend you want to have sex with Dasha too?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I wasn’t pre—” She stops but it's already too late and Villanelle bites her lip and grins at the victory. “Paris was—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Paris was different.” Villanelle finishes for her and Eve inclines her head slightly in acknowledgment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's another victory, this concession. Villanelle knows it, knows too that this is one better savoured and not shoved back in Eve’s face. She holds Eve’s gaze in the mirror, feels the weight of Eve’s stare and the insistent tug to move closer, to sink back into all the want she felt but held herself back from the night before. She watches as Eve moves as if to stand, to come closer,  as she might be the one to initiate again and the same feeling that stopped her last night grips her chest again; fear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And there was Raymond I guess.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eve stills and whatever strange tension had been pulling tighter between them snaps and is gone as soon as the words leave Villanelle’s mouth. She isn’t sure if that was exactly her intention but still it might be better than the alternative of having to find words to explain why the prospect of fucking the woman she’s spent the last year chasing is suddenly too much. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’s not sure she understands it either, this morning she’d found Eve’s reaction to what happened funny. But that had been in a train carriage full of people as a buffer. But right now with a large comfortable bed looming behind them; the thought of finally taking her to bed, being inside Eve, of Eve being inside her is too revealing, too dangerous, too— something. How is she meant to express that without sounding like a child or an idiot?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's never been a problem before of course, not even with Anna, with her sex was always a tool, a means to bring her closer. She had never really considered sex in terms of her own vulnerablility. Urgh. God even the sound of it is mortifying. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why did she even start this whole stop pretending thing? Because yes, it's a victory to see Eve acknowledge what’s between them, but every bit of honesty she pulls from Eve is yet another thing she has to decipher her own feelings about too. Can the initial victory really be worth the gut wrenching fear that Eve might actually offer her everything she wanted and she would have no idea what to do with it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you actually want to talk about this?” Eve asks, her voice is deliberately flat and Villanelle imagines how hard she must be working to control her temper. Her anger has always been easier to deal with, she considers whether to poke at it the way she had tried on the train earlier. It might even work this time, this particular landmine between them having far more potential.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But then she remembers how earnest and genuine Eve had been with her hand on the side of Villanelle’s face, and once again she is left desperate to deepen this intimacy, to give Eve everything she has she wants, whilst at the same time being terrified of the consequences.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you still angry with me about that?” She says it playfully, shrugs a shoulder and reaches for the first thing her hands find, a deliberate show of nonchalance designed to irritate if not completely piss off. Better to nudge the landmine rather than jump on it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You manipulated me into killing someone; yeah i'm still pissed off.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Villanelle turns back to face her, curiosity tugging at her and she waits until Eve asks, “Why did you do it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another question that she has more than one answer to. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Honestly? I wanted to see if you would.” She sighs. “I thought that if you’d have done it, then—  then maybe I could know, and maybe you would realise too, that you lo— ” She swallows the word, and it sits like a stone in her throat before she pulls down the mask and returns to playful disinterest as she reaches for something in her cosmetics bag. “But— ”, she sighs in flippant regret, “I guess we both know how that worked out.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eve doesn’t immediately respond and Villanelle decides that probably a good thing. Gut reactions to bad news have never really been either of their fortes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can’t trick someone into loving you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Villanelle turns to look at Eve sharply, insulted by the suggestion. “I don’t want that. I wanted you to see that you could kill someone if you wanted, that you would do it for me and that has to mean something.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You took away my choices. I didn’t kill him because I— because of whatever I might have felt for you, I did it because I didn’t want you to die, and I thought it was my only option.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She knew that, of course she did, Eve told her as much in Rome, this time doesn’t feel any less shit but she’s pretty sure she’s not going to shoot Eve this time. That’s progress right? Personal growth? If becoming more resigned and tolerant of ever deepening sadness can be described that way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’s known that Eve doesn’t love her for a long time now. That thought has settled. Eve likes her? Sure. She’s fascinated by her? She’s known that forever. She wants to fuck her? Yup. Great. She knows all that, and it kind of seems like Eve knows it too, and is even ready to acknowledge it. But none of that is love, and they both seem to know that too. But despite all that, a thought bubbles, something that carries the horrible stench of desperation, of hope.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If I hadn’t had the gun, or if I had but I’d stopped you from finishing it. What would have happened?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eve deflates slightly, “I don’t know. That’s the point though, it's like I said to you last night, you need to let me choose. Not push me toward what you want me to do.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Villanelle looks away, her throat tight, then nods slightly in acknowledgment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maybe just trust that I might not disappoint you?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Villanelle can't help the wry snort in response because it would probably be the first time that trusting a person didn’t end in disappointment, when she looks up Eve is staring at with none of the anger from earlier. “If it helps at all, I didn’t think you’d be so angry about it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eve stares at her incredulously. “You didn’t think I'd be mad that you manipulated me into killing someone with an axe?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She huffs out a hollow laugh, “I don’t even want to imagine the mental gymnastics it took to get there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But I am sorry now? I think.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She snorts in response, “That’s actually a worse apology than the last one.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Villanelle fiddles with some hair fallen from where the rest of it was pulled into a bun earlier, “I don’t apologise to anyone else. You’ve had two in one day, you should be flattered.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ever heard of the expression not to push your luck?” Eve asks wryly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nope.” She gets up and starts to rifle through her bag, before turning back to Eve, genuinely curious, “Did it feel the way you thought it would?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Killing him?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She nods and watches as Eve considers the question. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No.” She pauses again. “There was too much happening at the time to think about it. Then— then after everything else I was too angry with you to feel anything but that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Villanelle chews on her lip and nods, unsure what else to say, but terrified of how Eve might fill the silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The first people I killed, I didn’t mean to kill. Or, at least I didn’t set out to kill them, even if I didn’t care that they died.” She looks up to find Eve staring at her, then turns away before continuing. “I was bored, I can’t remember it exactly, I was bored all the time back then. So I set a fire, and then the orphanage burnt down with a load of people inside.” She shrugs, “I didn’t feel much of anything about it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She dreads what she’ll find on Eve’s face and imagines a faux display of disgust despite knowing how desperate Eve is for this side of herself. Or even worse; pity for the traumatised abandoned child, but she never saw herself that way, and whilst objectively it might have been true, she doesn’t want Eve to see her like that either.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What she finds on Eve’s is neither of those things, she just nods slightly before she says, “I didn’t— I don’t feel much about killing him. I should. I know what I should feel.” She pauses and Villanelle sits on the bed, not close enough to touch but not far either. Eve doesn’t look at her when she speaks, doesn’t acknowledge her, “I should feel bad right? Sorry or something? I’m just furious that you manipulated me, that I let you. That’s all I feel.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I am sorry, Eve.” She finds she means it, wishes that she’d had the foresight to give Eve the opportunity not to disappoint, and feels sick at the thought of whether she’d have the patience to make that choice next time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eve hums, non committal in response, still lost in her thoughts and Villanelle senses there’s something hidden here, something Eve is holding back. Before she can ask the moment is gone and Eve is visibly shaking herself from whatever it is and turning back to Villanelle with a sigh and rueful smile, “I said no more emotionally draining talks didn’t I?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You did. But if you want to talk— I don’t mind.” Thats only a partial lie, its not the talking that she hates, its that she finds herself so off balance when confronted by this version of Eve who really does seem interested in trying to understand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t, really.” She gathers her hair up and twists it above her head, “you’ve got an evening planned right? Let’s do that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re sure?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“God yes. Something light and easy and— god, something fun. That’s what I want.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Villanelle’s mouth pulls up at the corner, and despite the feeling that there is something there to be picked at, she stands with a flourish, eager to find to some surer footing, to return of the lightness from earlier in the day, </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You are in good hands. Prepare to be treated to the best evening out of your life.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh-huh.” She says sceptically.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Villanelle sniffs haughtily, “Always so rude. You’ll see.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She hears Eve’s snort of amusement from behind her as she sweeps into the bathroom buoyed by the knowledge that where she's been so awkward and tentative about whatever it is that Eve keeps pulling from her, she is confident and sure about this kind of thing; taking the woman she likes out for the evening, that she can do with her eyes closed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once dressed she checks her reflection in the mirror and finds a genuine smile stretching across her face because with all the shit from Raymond and her friend she killed behind them, tonight is going to be excellent, she just knows it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>—///——</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Anyone fancy a date in Warsaw? I guarantee a night of romance that only an spayne fic could provide..... that is to say....not that romantic and possibly also a complete disaster...? Anyone game?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Warsaw (ii)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So now this fic gets updates at random intervals. Apologies</p>
<p>But it turns out that getting them from Rome to the point they were at on the bridge is actually kind of hard.....suddenly i have a new appreciation for whoever it was that piped up in the writers room with - "....we could always just....y'know....skip it?"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“This is shit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve tilts her head to the side and sighs before speaking in what she hopes is her most reassuring voice, “It's not shit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eve.” Villanelle looks at her clearly unimpressed, “You are eating something that is probably made from parts of fourteen different cows which were crushed and then glued back together in the shape of a burger.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve stops just before taking another bite, “Why would you say that after watching me already eat half of it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle leans back in the booth, sighs roughly before crossing her arms and looking away. She sulks like a little kid and Eve can’t help but find it mildly charming. Silly, but charming. It's the side to Villanelle that she has rarely let herself enjoy, but in the spirit of ‘trying’ she lets herself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This overgrown teenager has probably planned the most obnoxiously romantic evening, candles, flowers, confetti, the works, but here they are in McDonald’s whilst flood water covers most of the pavements throughout the city. Oh how Villanelle must loathe this, Eve on the other hand could not be more amused.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It's McDonalds. It's fine. Despite the whole glue thing you just said and— that’s not true is it? That's not what the commercials say?” She asks somewhat concerned about a lifetime of eating what are apparently glued back together quazi burgers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well would you eat it if the advert said ‘Hey come and eat this burger made from liquified and reformed animals and—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“—ok, ok enough! Jesus.” She puts her burger down, and the urge to keep teasing is too strong to ignore, “I’ve been to Warsaw before you know? And it's not like i'm shocked that Poland is rainy. It's fine that we didn’t get to do tourist things, I don’t mind. This is fine, really.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She picks up a fry and flicks it at Eve.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re meant to be sad that you didn’t get the amazing evening I had planned. You are so rude.” It comes out sulky and Eve swallows a smile— she knew it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what’s bothering you?” She asks. Villanelle shrugs a shoulder and looks away again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You sulk like a child, you know that, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle frowns. “This isn’t sulking.” It definitely is.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok, so McDonalds isn’t exactly setting the world alight, but—” Eve pauses, bites her lip to hold in her amusement. She probably shouldn’t take such joy in Villanalle’s turmoil, but— whatever, it's funny.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle narrows her eye’s and suddenly looks completely indignant, “You are— you are enjoying this!” Eve can’t help but laugh. “You are the worst. I planned a wonderful evening for you, and this is what I get in return.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve watches as Villanelle slumps back in her seat and she’s— she’s cute when she sulks. Eve’s mildly embarrassed by the thought, it's still so much easier to acknowledge the less affectionate things she feels for Villanelle, finding her cute still feels too soft for what normally passes between them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But that has been the last few days all over, the antagonism having a more playful note than what came before. Or— actually that isn’t right, Villanelle has always been playful, even her cruelty has mostly come with a teasing raised eyebrow or a smug quirk to her lovely mouth. So maybe this has always been there, it's just that Eve is only now starting to want to acknowledge it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It's a jarring thought to realise that she’s deliberately opening herself up to something she had spent the last year doing her best to ignore, even more jarring is that it doesn’t feel entirely terrible. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re saying sharing an extra portion of nuggets isn’t your idea of romance?” The word is out there without much forethought, but she refuses to give herself the opportunity to second guess herself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle pauses for a beat, perhaps surprised at the word but recovers and leans toward Eve, slow and teasing, “That’s what you wanted from this evening?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve snorts, “You’re going to have to work very hard to convince me that what you had planned wouldn’t look out of place in a hallmark movie.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That is very arrogant of you.” She says it with the same teasing lilt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh come on.” Eve finds herself leaning closer too, “Flowers?”, a slight stiffening in Villanelle’s face tells her everything she needs to know, “Candles?” It's there again and she laughs. “A horse drawn carriage?” And again. “Oh my god. You’re joking? You did not organise a horse drawn carriage?” Villanelle sits back abruptly, sulking again to have been caught out, Eve dissolves into laughter, and another fry is flicked in her direction.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know why you are making such a big deal of it. It's a capital city in Europe, horse drawn carriages aren’t special at all, everyone uses them. It’s practically like the subway.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You do realise I have been to Europe before right? And I’ve never been on one.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Urgh, I should have assumed that the moustache has the romantic instincts of a flannel. Fine. Carriages are very romantic. I would have driven us on a magical carriage ride but instead we are here sharing—” she prods a nugget with her finger dismissively, “—whatever this is.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, you were going to— is drive even the right verb? Forget it, you can—” she gestures vaguely, “-—drive one?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure.” She shrugs it off like it's nothing, but Eve can feel how much she’s enjoying the opportunity to show off. She picks up a fry and starts eating before continuing, “Had to learn it for a job.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve knows it's a little detail from her past dangled there for her to seize on and she doesn’t disappoint, “Death by horse whip?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle grins whilst chewing, “Kinky”, she rolls her eyes self deprecatingly, “But no. Two gunshots, one for each of them. A junior minister and the woman he was screwing. Boring really.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Something tickles in the back of Eve’s mind, something familiar. “Prague?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle tilts her head but says nothing</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A few years ago right? And--” she tries to recall some of the details, “You let out the horses? After I mean. All the carriage horses in the stable, you let them all out?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle grins, and eats another fry.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve laughs, “You know, it took days to recapture them all?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They were looking at me weirdly.”, she shrugs as if that was an entirely reasonable explanation, “You didn’t know that one was me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It was boring, like you said. I only remembered it because of the horses.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She pouts slightly in response, “If I’d know you were watching I might have put on more of a show.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess it can’t always be sapphic hair pins injecting poison.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles lightly, pleased by yet more evidence of just how much space she occupies in Eve’s head, before a playful grimace crosses her face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A job’s a job. A lot of the time it's just a grind.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve huffs a laugh and takes a bite out of the burger, then she watches as Villanelle’s manner shifts, only slightly but it's a tell and Eve knows it now. It comes when there is something she's deliberately obscuring from view and it has the same effect on Eve that it always does.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t— I don’t know if I want to keep killing for the Twelve.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve says nothing, feels all the questions line up at the tip of her tongue but forces herself to give Villanelle space enough to give her more, and hates how hard it is to wait to receive rather than take. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m bored of it. I thought I wanted more— from them— I don’t think I want it anymore.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve remembers the trite little speech from her kitchen all those months ago and knows in her gut that this is something else. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t want to kill anymore?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She bristles in response. “That's not what I said. This isn't some morality bullshit. I'm just bored of being told what to do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve forces her hands into action, reaches for more fries, or the nuggets, anything to tone down her gut reaction to this news, to reign in the urge to pull apart every truth villanelle tosses her way until there is nothing left.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What will you do instead?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She half smiles, it’s shy and hesitant, “Interior designer maybe?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It tweaks something in Eve’s chest and she huffs out a gentle sound of amusement, “You know what? I could see that actually.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Villanelle looks up, a flush dusting her cheeks, and Eve wants— She wants all the things she wanted before, to know everything, to ask everything, to kiss and touch her, all of that ever present for a long time before this trip. But what she wants now is to indulge this pipe dream of a future where Villanelle spends all day looking at fabric swatches rather than the more likely end where one day luck runs out and she’s shot in the back of the head. The softness of it feels strange again and she can’t find a way to fit the words together in a way that doesn’t feel stupid.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So— after Russia then? You’re just going to stop?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She feels herself being appraised slowly, until Villanelle relaxes again and leans back in the seat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Depends what happens in Russia I guess. But yeah, I haven’t worked it all out yet but I could just disappear.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve feels her face freeze, quickly followed by Villanelle’s foot as it hooks around her ankle under the table. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep looking at me like that and I’ll think you’d miss me.” She looks so completely pleased by the prospect, and where Eve expects to find herself desperate to deny it she thinks that maybe it's kind of ok to want to make Villanelle feel something good. So instead she rolls her eyes and carefully presses her foot back into Villanelle. It’s a nothing touch, as far as touches between them go but the way Villanelle startles at such a silly gesture of affection makes it feel like something more significant.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But rather than wallow in the sentimentality in the way that Eve expects, she grins suddenly and she’s back to the cocky showman as if nothing had happened. It's a relief and a disappointment when she stands and offers Eve her hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eve eyes her warily, and she rolls her eyes and gestures again for Eve to take her hand, “Come on, you wanted romance right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, I don’t think that's exactly what I said.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She tuts and looks at Eve expectantly, “I won’t offer again.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The delivery is light, teasing in the way of much of the evening, but something about it reminds Eve of last night where Villanelle had been seemingly prepared to walk away. She eyes the half eaten burger and the rain still battering against the window next to her before picking up her bag and sliding out of the booth. Eve doesn’t take her hand, the thought of it too awkward without the steady thrum of arousal which had blurred everything as she’d led her by the hand from the bar the night before.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If Villanelle cares, she doesn’t show it, her hands already occupied with zipping her jacket before burying them in the pockets and walking toward the doors. Eve follows behind, watching the way she walks, watches her legs and the intricate knot holding her hair at the back of her head, and knows suddenly that she’s going to kiss Villanelle again tonight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Is this part of Villanelle’s plans? Pulling Eve against her on a street corner and kissing in the rain at a predetermined point chosen hours before? Quite apart from her internal cringe at just the image of  something better suited to a romcom,  she bristles to think that all the tiny steps that she’s taken to cut away at her old life had already been decided by Villanelle without any say from her. Her mind casts back to how weightless the axe had been when it swung down before landing hard and heavy into the meat of a shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the past she took refuge in the thought that her life was collapsing around her and none of it was her doing. But after Rome she can’t bear the thought that any more of her life was decided by someone else. If her life is going to be pulled apart then she is going to be the one to do it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She decided to leave Niko in Poland. She decided to chase after Villanelle again. She is going to find out why Niko was hurt, and she is going to find out who killed Kenny. And tonight she is going to kiss Villanelle again. All of that comes from her, and she isn’t going to let go of that agency easily.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A couple of kids open the door just before Villanelle reaches it and she stretches out to catch it before it can close behind them. Eve watches as she extends her arm to hold it open for her and as she passes the thought that crosses her mind is that maybe it's better to just get it out of the way. Refusing to second guess herself she half turns toward her and presses her mouth clumsily against Villanelle’s.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She lands somewhere toward the edge of her lips and feels Villanelle still in surprise before she turns slightly and kisses her back. It's chaste and a little awkward, and in the end it's no more than a few light presses against Villanelle’s mouth before she is barged out the way by a group of people trying to get past.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She turns to shout something at them before hearing Villanelle snort in amusement next to her. “Come on”, she says as she reaches out and takes Eve’s hand pulling her out into the rain.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am not a mcdonalds snob. That isnt me. But I also never ever ever want to find out what its made of. Please do not try and educate me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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